


Apple Magus vs the Nightmare King

by KiraHeartilly



Category: Original Work
Genre: Creepypasta, LGBTQ Character, Light Horror with a Happy Ending, NaNoWriMo, Reality Altering Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 62,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27761965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraHeartilly/pseuds/KiraHeartilly
Summary: A young woman fights off a nightmare demon who may or may not be real.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 1





	1. I had a Horrifyingly Bizarre Dream the Other Day

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Mental Illness, Injury, Emetephobia, 4th Wall based Horror, Illness, Scorpions, Dog Attacks, Animal Harm, Animal Death, Fires, Burning, Supernatural Reality Bending, Self-Doubt, Self-Image Issues, LGBT Related Insecurities, Infidelity, Insect Death, Misogynistic Beauty Standards, Characters Lashing Out at Innocents in Response to Bigotry, Child Harm, Self-Harm, Suicide, Drowning, Human Suffering, Asthma, Health Problems, Parental Neglect, Abuse, Betrayal, Memory Distortion, Heart Break, Toxic Clinginess, Terminated Friendships, Guns, Unrequited LGBT Love, Death, Murder, Jealousy, Getting Lost, Guilt, Car Accidents, Body Hatred, Blood, Starvation, Emotional Manipulation of Children, Implied Loss of Body Control, Blasphemy/Religious Resentment.
> 
> **There’s a Happy Ending Though!**
> 
> This is a story I wrote in one month for NaNoWriMo.  
> I don't have a beta, though i tried to proofread as best I could. I do have a lot of trouble with it though, so I tend to miss a lot, but this is the best I can offer.
> 
> Also I want to be upfront. Some of Claire's experiences are based on my own and some events with friends may have inspired some scenes or in-jokes, but other than Claire's mom being mildly based on my own, no other character is directly based on any other human I know.
> 
> The name Claire Oswin is a tribute to a Doctor Who character. She used multiple names throughout the show... sort of. But I don't recall her using this exact combination.

**I had a Horrifyingly Bizarre Dream the Other Day**

Growing up, I had this one recurring nightmare as a child where I was sent away to a boarding school where I had no contact with my family for a whole year. Not the most dramatic nightmare, I know, but I made no friends and I was all alone with nobody to talk to. Nothing concrete ever happened in those dreams, no bullying, no classes, no schoolwork, but I could feel the loneliness eating away at me as the months stretched on. Every time I had that nightmare it felt like months’ worth of isolation, when in reality only a single night had passed. Less even, if you think about it. After all, don’t scientists say that a dream is actually only a few seconds of brain activity? It’s your perception that stretches it out.

That concept always freaked me out a little.

Recently, I had a dream just like that. Or maybe “dreams” would be more accurate. Kind of hard to say. They were these bizarre interconnected snippets of events that my mind can barely remember. Pieces snapped into place on a puzzle board where half the picture was still blank. Short battles in a longer war.

Despite only being brief flashes of events, it felt like they were lasting much longer. Like there was a passage of ages between each haphazard vignette telling the tale of some anonymous hero questing to save some poor “innocent” maiden.

(I wonder how they’d feel if only they knew.)

It was only a few nights ago, I was tossing and turning in bed, trying to get to bed, hoping for some pleasant dreams to gently shepherd me through the night. (Spoiler alert, that did not happen.) The fall air was finally starting to cool and the loudly humming fan in the corner of my room helped keep that cool air circulating all around. It nearly made me forget that strange ambiguous maybe-fever burning up my forehead. Sure I felt hot, but I couldn’t really be sure. Yes, my thermometer climbed up to 102°F before promptly shutting off, but seeing as it was _clearly_ busted, I certainly couldn’t trust it 100% now could I? But yeah, I probably had a fever.

It had been bothering me all day, along with a splitting headache, and the growing catch 22 of hunger nausea (perhaps with a bit of vanilla nausea thrown into the mix, because why the _fuck_ not. Surely my misery had to be funny for someone or something, right?) I’d spent the day waiting around the house, not doing much. I had a few anime I’d fallen behind on that I planned to catch up on, but every time I tried to pay attention to the screen, pain flared through my head and made it impossible to focus. It was like someone kept throwing knives into my skull, only the knives were made of frozen acid and once they got into my brain they started to melt and spill everywhere, flooding my cranium with agony. Spikes of pain flared up everywhere, across my forehead, my temples, the back of my neck. The sources I checked all said different causes of headaches could be determined based on what part of your head hurt, but this was everywhere.

No way the internet could diagnose this one. If I wanted answers, I’d need a doctor.

But I didn’t have medical insurance, so I’d need to wait this out at home. As the day passed, my stomach started to churn. I felt it twisting, like someone was tying it up in tightly coiled knots, then braiding those knots together before using my insides to play jump rope. I kept an empty bucket at my side all day- just in case. I really needed food, but the thought of anything we had just made me sicker and the thought of _eating_ anything was more painful than I could handle. I opened a box of saltines, thinking, _‘surely these can’t be that hard on my stomach.’_ But as I sat there chewing handfuls of bland crackers, each mouthful of mush became a bigger challenge to swallow. It was like my stomach had slammed shut a large iron gate keeping all food away and my throat simply refused to let anything even attempt the trip. After only three mouthfuls I spat my crackers into a napkin and threw them into the trash.

My mom cooked chicken that night. I usually cooked the rice, but she took pity on me and did that while I was resting in my room. When I heard the sound of rice raining down into the pot, I naturally came out to help. She took the rice pot to the sink and immediately ran it under the faucet, telling me she had it handled. I offered to help make iced tea, but we still had leftovers. I must have looked as miserable as I felt. I wanted to do something to take my mind off my nausea and pain as I waited for the chicken to cook, but nothing offered more than a split second salvation. I was in the clutches of some terrifying illness and it wasn’t letting me go.

That night, I took one look at my mother’s chicken, and I felt a wave of nausea nearly knock me off my feet. “Sorry mom, but I don’t think my stomach can handle this,” I told her. I got a tea cup from the cabinet and made some tea so I could dip bread and butter into it. A tasty snack I’d learned to love in my youth. It wasn’t very filling, but at least it was something I could manage, and there was something soothing about the warm tea filling up my stomach. It settled the nausea for a moment.

So that night I climbed into bed early. It was only 10 and I typically like going to sleep at midnight or later, but I was exhausted, so I figured I’d better get to bed early.

Now you’re probably wondering what any of this has to do with my dream. In a word, _everything._

It wasn’t some Hellish landscape, no burning flames or shooting spouts of lava, or jagged rocks of barren land. It wasn’t some typical horror landscape either, no haunted house with dark creaky floors, or spooky forest with hooting owls and piercing white eyes in the shadows. It was a desert- with sand everywhere, spreading out for miles.

Apparently this isn’t uncommon for fever dreams, and I suppose this might be what it was. I’d always heard they were strange, but never really understood what that meant. Strange by what standards? Dreams always had that potential, fever or not! Once I dreamed that I needed to eat a dozen apples because Dracula was chasing me and he was going to steal my cat. How is that not strange‽ The weirdest part? I don’t even _have_ a cat. But of course dream me didn’t realize this!

But I think I get it now. This was a dream that messed with my perceptions of reality in ways that a regular dream never could. I stood there, under the vast blue sky, not a cloud in sight, and a demon explained my situation. There were no words, no communication, just an understanding of information.

I hadn’t gotten sick randomly. This was _his_ doing. I was sick because he willed it and I wouldn’t get better until he willed that as well. He told me not to try fighting, because I’d never truly win, never break free from this illness. I might earn a moment’s reprieve, but I’d just get sick again when he healed. There was only one way I could appease him and lift the curse.

Write him not one, but _two_ creepypastas.

Those thoughts lingered in my head as I woke up, under a layer of that strange fog that likes rolling in when you’re halfway between wake and sleep and your senses having momentarily left you struggling to discern reality from fantasy. ( _Giraffes don’t **actually** have acidic spit, right?) _I found myself unable to question the obvious oddities before me, and simply gave in to accepting the things laid out before me by the dream, no matter how weird or nonsensical they were.

My mind felt heavy, like it was a sponge that soaked up an ocean worth of water.

_‘Creepypastas? Sure I love to write,’_ I told myself. _‘But horror isn’t my forte. I hope his standards aren’t very high or else I’m screwed.’_ Beyond that I was nervous, I’d never handled criticism well, so I was nervous about posting this online. But the demon king demanded an audience.

My stomach still hurt a little and my head still felt like Hell. I imagine this is what a hangover feels like, based on the way I’ve heard others describe them, not that I knew myself. As the fog lifted and my senses returned, I managed to reach my phone on my nightstand. It was just after midnight and I was still in for a long night. Hopefully I could have a better dream during the next one, and not something so ridiculous.

_‘A demon king, demanding I write creepypastas for him! How’d my subconscious come up with that anyway‽ And why two‽’_ But as I asked myself that question, I instinctively knew the answer. One of horror so he could feed off the reader’s terror. (Maybe I’d been listening to too much of _The Magnus Archives_ lately.) And one of infection so that he’d be able to get to more victims with ease.

_‘It’s a good thing this dumbass demon king wasn’t real or else I’d be screwed. No way am I writing a creepypasta. Let alone two.’_ I felt my stomach growing sick. Climbing out of bed in the dark, I stumbled toward the door, my weak legs trembling with each step I took. Luckily, the bathroom is right next to my bedroom (and I still had my bucket for emergencies) but either way I made it to the toilet seat just as time ran out. I raised the seat and began lowering myself into a sitting position when suddenly I felt the contents of my stomach gushing out like a putrid geyser. I leaned over the toilet as what little sustenance I’d eaten that day deluged out in a storm. I winced as pain squeezed my stomach, but I managed to lower myself to the floor. Chills ran up my spine as the skin of my bare legs came into contact with the cold bathroom floor, never a fun place to have to be, but one I’m sure most of us are unfortunately familiar with.

I stayed there, waiting with dread for the next wave I knew would come, praying for some sort of miracle. Hadn’t I suffered enough? Apparently whatever force of nature saw fit to inflict this dreadful misery upon me had decided _‘no.’_ I felt my stomach contract and contort, like a mop being wrung out. Apparently my stomach couldn’t handle all that butter from earlier. My go to sick meal had betrayed me, leaving me worse off than ever before.

I sat there, eyes stinging with tears of pain as I waited for a potential third wave. But the pain subsided and the nausea weakened, leaving me well enough to stand. I flushed the toilet and soon crawled back into bed, rearranging my pillows into a position I hoped would bring comfort.

_‘I wish someone could come save me.’_ I thought. But how? This was an illness, not some monster that could be fought. You can’t just punch the sick away or blast it with magic. _‘Wait, no magic’s not real. If it were real then maybe you **could** magic the sickness away. Though since the sickness is real and magic isn’t, the phrase ‘You can’t just punch the sick away or blast it with magic,’ does still hold up as true, I suppose._

_‘You could treat it, with medicine, but that’s one doctor trip I can’t afford.’_

I quickly checked my phone and saw that it was finally midnight. Hopefully in the morning a good night’s sleep would be enough to take the edge off my illness and I’d be well enough to play some video games or something. And hopefully the rest of the night’s dreams would be more pleasant than sinister nightmare demons waging biological warfare on me.

I returned to that same desert. The clear sky hung above as the white sands stretched out infinitely. Not a feature in sight, no buildings, no trees, no cacti, no dunes, no wind carved sand ripples, no rocks, no scorpions or bugs scampering about. It was vast and it was empty. Just me and a young girl standing before me.

She was a young teen. She really shouldn’t have been out here all alone without a parent or guardian, especially not considering what she had planned. But the heroic types never do seem to care do they? She didn’t look like much to be honest, just an ordinary girl in a simple black robe, light skinned with curly black hair falling to her waist.

We never said a word to each other, but just like with the demon king, I instinctively had the gist of it all floating around my brain, like it came preloaded with the dream. She was a powerful warrior, a magic user as evidenced by her lack of any other visible means of protection. I knew she was tough enough to have earned her confidence.

She had something powerful that would help defeat the evil king, a magic spell of ultimate force and destruction.

I didn’t know what that spell actually was, just that it existed. Was it a giant blast of magic? Something that instantly turned the enemy to dust? Did it make their heart stop? Not a clue. I never once saw her cast it. I never saw the girl actually do anything really. She never moved, never offered to shake my hand or high five me, she never twirled a fancy magic staff, her clothes and hair never swayed in the wind. For all intents and purposes my dream was a single still image that lasted for only a few seconds.

Then bam, she cast the spell and defeated the evil demon king. Not that I ever saw any of this. But I knew it was true. She’d helped me face off the demon king in the realm of my dreams and we’d won, because I willed it to be so.

I woke up in bed again. According to my phone it was still 1 in the morning, so I had a few more hours of going through this before I’d be (hopefully) rested enough to walk around the house doing stuff. Obviously, for all I knew, I could be spending a lot longer in bed than I planned.

But as I closed my eyes, my mind wandered off again, drifting away like a boat on a sea of fog. _‘I wonder what I’ll dream about next. Hopefully something nice and not more of that desert. I’d give anything to be away from that desert. Please just not that desert.’_

You know that weird state of dreaming where you’re either just going in or coming out of sleep and you have a bit more control over your dream than usual. I was starting to realize these were like these to some degree. Had I been a bit healthier, maybe I’d have steered my thoughts somewhere nicer. ‘ _Maybe give me a nice magical forest, with only hints of filtered sunlight illuminated the dark corners where magical creatures dwell.’_

As it was, I could only think of that desert and that demon. ‘ _Please just not that desert. Please just not that desert.’_ I tried not to, of course, but pink elephants and all that. I just thought of the desert more, that demon king, and the growing sickness in my own stomach, and a brief flash of pain in my head. _‘Don’t think about the sickness.’_ I warned myself. It just made my headache worse.

He was back. The mighty witch had only stunned him, but not stopped him. She’d bought me a moment’s worth of piece but the demon king was back for revenge. I was already tired of his shit and didn’t want to deal with him any longer. This time my ally was a young knight, with long black hair tied in a ponytail. He wore a simple cloak and tunic and pants along scabbard for his trusty mystical sword, a powerful weapon capable of slaying evil in one hit. I never saw him draw the blade. I never saw him swing it. But I the world faded and I drifted back to my bed, I knew he’d sunk it into the demon king’s flesh, and I _willed_ it to destroy him.

The demon king had chosen to fight me on my turf, but perhaps he’d miscalculated. With those few fleeting moment of sleep I seemed to have, I was able to ascend to a state of near Godhood. I could practically control the dream and any battle against the demon king would end in a flash. I was like a hacker with all the best mods, stats maxed, ultimate weapons, and all the best accessories. The demon king didn’t stand a chance.

But he wouldn’t _stay_ dead, he just kept coming back. And I wasn’t sure I could keep this up. I rolled in bed, trying to get back to sleep again. This time, it didn’t come so easily and I laid in bed waiting for my mind to clear. _‘What am I doing? Fighting off a nightmare demon? Demons aren’t real. They’re imaginary. It’s just a bad dream.’_

And here I was, getting so worked up over a bad dream. Still, I did not want to think any more of that desert. I closed my eyes again. And there was the sand, spilling out before me. Another ally, still as a single static image. I strained to keep my arms lifted, they were heavy with weight. This was too much. Every single attack launched against the demon king felt successful, but he wouldn’t stay dead. There was no way to appease him without giving into his demands. What did he want from me? To wake up at 3 in the morning to shit out some lackluster creepypasta.

_There was a man who liked spaghetti. One day he ate the spaghetti, but instead of easting the spaghetti, the spaghetti ate him, because it was actually snakeghetti._ It was the middle of the night and I was sick, couldn’t the asshole just leave me alone for a day or two? Part of me wanted to just give up immediately and let the demon king have his away with me, but I worried that would only make things worse.

I fell asleep and I was back in the sea of endless sand. My limbs felt tired and overworked, like I’d been doing this for ages. I needed a break, I needed to sleep. I don’t even remember who my ally was that time. I think it was a ninja. I remember one of the weapons taking out the demon king was a simple shuriken. No magic, no mystical origins, just expertly thrown.

Well it did have me backing it by thinking _‘I really hope this works. Maybe it can drive the demon king away for a little bit and I can sleep peacefully for a little while.’_ One throwing star to the brain later and the king had been vanquished yet again. I woke up in bed, feeling exhausted. I tossed off my blanket and let the cool fan air chill my sweating body.

I checked my phone, _3:24_ and closed my eyes as I tried to go back to sleep. _“The demon king isn’t that strong after all. We can all work together to beat him can’t we.”_ I- I didn’t so much as think the words as _speak_ them? I’m sure of it. I was speaking to my allies.

The people who weren’t actually there with me. Because, you know, they didn’t exist. I spoke these words in my head as if they were somehow supposed to be able to hear them out loud. (Then again, seeing as they were in my head, that’s probably the least of my worries.)

I fell asleep and it was back to the sandscape, where another ally waited with an overpowered instakill that oneshotted the demon king. The big bad evil demon was starting to feel a lot more like a nuisance than a real threat, some low level wild encounter and not the big boss I imagined he would be.

Light flooded my vision, forcing me awake. Rays of the sun angrily attacked my window, reminding me of the 102° maybe fever I’d had the day before. _‘Is the demon king gone now? I survived the night, maybe that was his only chance.’_ Rubbing the dried rheum from my eyes I lowered my tired legs to the floor. My arms and legs felt tired, overworked, as if I’d run a marathon, or fought some fierce battle with an unknown enemy. _‘No, demon kings **aren’t** real.’ _I reminded myself. This was starting to get embarrassing. I was so sick that I was losing track of reality and make believe, letting them bleed together into slush. As if my mind wasn’t already a minefield of disastrous proportions.

My dry hoarse throat demanded water, so I poured myself a glass and drank it quickly. Then another, then a third. It wasn’t until I was halfway through pouring my fourth glass that I felt my tongue return to normal, just as a nice chill filled my stomach. I sat down for some breakfast, my stomach still grumbling about the day before. The thought of any heavy food still made me sick, so I made some peanut butter and jelly. Surely something so inoffensive couldn’t possibly bother my stomach.

It was wrong.

The grape jelly was sweet, and the peanut butter was salty, just as I expected. The white bread didn’t have much flavor, but it wasn’t supposed to after all. It’s plain white bread, you don’t get it for taste, you get it to hold your sandwich ingredients together. It felt strange in my mouth. That’s when I realized, it wasn’t the taste bothering me, it was the texture.

You know all those dips and holes on a slice of bread? It felt like there were too many of them and I could feel them all pressing against my tongue with every bite. I struggled to chew, gulping down each bite reluctantly. It slowly made its way down my throat like lint in a clogged vacuum hose. After a few bites, I’d had enough. I threw the rest away and texted my friend, Jacob.

**_Me:_ ** _Good morning._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hey, are you feeling better?_

**_Me:_ ** _My stomach isn’t as nauseous right now, but it is still pretty bad. Hopefully this is my last day of this, because I don’t think I can take many more nights like last night._

**_Jacob:_ ** _That rough?_

**_Me:_** _I had a really weird fever dream. I’d rather not get into the details, but it wasn’t fun. Now I feel just as sick. My head is pounding against my skull, my stomach feels terrible, and my arms and legs feel weak and tired._  
Plus I’m pretty exhausted.  
I might doze off soon.

I felt a sudden wave of nausea and I dashed into the bathroom, making it just in time to vomit into the toilet bowl. I felt a chill tear through my body as that morning’s ice water came right back out of. Feeling defeated, I crawled back into bed.

I wanted to keep my eyes awake and text my friend, ask him about his day. I had anime and manga to catch up on and I was in the middle of replaying Final Fantasy X. I didn’t want my momentum to die! But my eyelids were so heavy and my eyes stung with effort. I rolled to my side thinking, _‘I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes.’_

That same sandy scene sprawled out before me once again. At least the demon king was gone this time. Perhaps he couldn’t recover as quickly during the day? But he had an army of minions at his disposal and they were terrorizing the land, somewhere. Luckily another heroic warrior stood ready to help fight. Our target this time was a bird demon, soaring through the sky and bringing terror from above.

They were starting to get more and more forgettable as these dreams became more of a chore. Sure, the threat scared me at first, I didn’t want to stay sick forever, but now these dreams were starting to drag on for me and I wanted out. Even though they only ever lasted a second, every time I fell asleep I felt like I’d been on the battlefield for months, facing off against unseen foes. My arms burned, not from the sun but from overwork. My legs could barely hold me. And it was so lonely. Every companion I met vanished in the blink of an eye before I could get to know them any better. I never did learn any of their names.

This one, I think, was a young woman with some sort of rocket launcher. One blast and she shot that turkey out of the sky. (Again this is something I knew without ever actually seeing it.) I rolled right back around in my bed as my eyes fluttered awake.

I checked my phone.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hope you can get some rest._

**_Me:_ ** _Yeah, I just dozed off. I feel much better now. Are you at work?_

I grinned. My stomach was still nauseous and my head wouldn’t stop pounding, but at least the quick nap seemed to have restored me. I grabbed my phone and took it to the kitchen as I waited for my friend’s reply.

“There’s some Ginger Ale and Gatorade in the fridge,” my mom told me as I walked in. “I thought it might help settle your stomach.”

“That sounds great, thank you,” I said politely. The bottle cap did not want to come off easily. I considered asking my mom for help, but she was already sitting down and I didn’t want to bother her. Nor did I want to walk all the way to her chair in the parlor, not when my legs were still feeling wobbly. My shoulder hurt, like my arm was about to pop out the socket, but I managed to get the Ginger Ale open.

It was a strange taste, not exactly one I’d call pleasant. It was a bit strong and piercing, but also not too sickening. Overall it was a lot better than Dr. Pepper at least. I only took a few sips, and it felt like the sea churning around in my stomach slowed down for a bit. Saving the rest for later, I told my mom, “This really does help.”

**_Jacob:_ ** _Yeah I’m at the library._

My friend worked two jobs, one at a bookstore, and one at a library. He loved reading almost as much as I did, so they were good fits for him, but his hours were so confusing that I could never keep track.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Straightforward day so far, other than some minor oddities._

I asked for details and set the phone on the nightstand as I crawled back into bed. My eyelids felt so heavy, like I hadn’t gotten any sleep at all last night. _‘Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a minute,’_ I told myself. _‘Just don’t go back to that desert please.’_

I was back in that desert, ready for another battle. It ended in a flash, another victory for the heroes. And in the snap of a finger I was back in the waking world. I sat up, rubbing my head. “I’m getting tired of just deserts,” I mumbled.

But that desert was not tired of me. I’d nap and awaken energized for a few minutes before crawling back into bed as sleep overcame me for another twenty more.

**_Me:_ ** _I dozed off again. I can’t seem to stay awake at all today. I’ve never been this exhausted in my life._

2:24, 2:51, 3:16, time seemed to jump around like slinky, settling down for a moment before lurching forward to the next. Each waking moment was bookended by a trip to the desert, where another monster awaited. Details were fading, the creepy fog in my brain grew stronger with each trip, consuming more and more of my conscious. I was like a robot going through the steps.

Let my ally fight some monster. Cheer as the battle ended in one hit. Send a quick message to my friend. Then go back to battle. I can’t recall ever spending that much time in bed before.

Around 4:13 I managed to drag myself to the kitchen, nearly falling over as I stood up. Twice I tripped on air as I made the trip, but I was able to take a few quick sips of ginger ale to ease my stomach and grab a bottle of Gatorade to drink. I sat at the kitchen table to text my friend.

**_Me:_ ** _Anything interesting happening on your end? You mentioned some minor oddities?_

The Gatorade felt cool on my throat and just tasty enough that I could enjoy it as a treat. My friend told me about his day trying to help a kid find some book, I wished him luck as I enjoyed my break from the desert.

I did a few simple chores around the house to help pass the time. I placed dishes in the cupboard, cooked rice for dinner, and made some iced tea. Then it was back under the covers of my bed and off to that mundane desert.

Each trip felt brief as the fog ate away at more and more of the story. I couldn’t tell what I was fighting, who was helping me, or how we were winning. All I knew was that I was desperate to win and with each moment in that desert I summoned every ounce of my willpower to fight back. It worked every time, we crushed all enemies rising before us, but it left me on the brink of collapse.

By the time 6:30 rolled around I’d been through more rounds of combat than I dared to admit. I crawled out of bed and into the kitchen, where mom had just finished cooking hot dogs. I laid them out on a bed of rice and sat across from my mother. She’d made her hot dogs with pork and beans, the strong smell of the tomato sauce cut through the air, like a direct assault on my stomach. I tried a bite of my hot dogs, I usually loved them.

Today they tasted weird. Like they were gritty, as if someone had mixed in a bunch of gravel. I managed a few bites and some forkfuls of fluffy white rice before I excused myself from the table and tossed my plate in the trash. I drank some ginger ale to settle my stomach and went off to my room. Returning to my bed, I once more awaited the mental prison of that ever unchanging desert. But for once it didn’t come. My head was still too groggy for anime, and there was no way I could focus on a game.

**I had a Horrifyingly Bizarre Dream Last Night**

There was no way I could finish the entire tale in one night, and I’d probably edit as I went, changing ‘last night’ to ‘the other day’ as I went. I quickly grabbed my phone to text my friend.

**_Me:_ ** _What would you name a nightmare demon?_

Had I asked anybody else this question, they might have freaked. But Jacob was a writer too, so he quickly came up with an answer.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Oneirophobia._

If it came to it, I now had a name.

Maybe if I got this all out of my system, it would help in some way. Placebo effects, mind over matter, they say a clear mind can lead to a healthy body. So obviously Nightmare King Oneirophobia isn’t real. He’s just a figment of my imagination. A fever dream crafted by my brain for God knows what reason. He didn’t _really_ ~~ask~~ force me to write this creepypasta (not that we can actually call it that creepy.) But maybe if I play along with my mind’s script then that will be enough to put this whole affair behind me.

But I can’t help but wonder. Mind games work both ways, for good and bad. And lots of people can choose what to dream about at night. So I wonder, if someone were to really think hard about this, late at night before bed, could they concoct a dream about this mysterious Nightmare King?

Well obviously they could. How many times have humans had dreams about the shows they watch or the books they read. Once as a child I had a nightmare where a monster from the Power Rangers kidnapped me. It was horrifying at the time but I sometimes laugh about it now.

But even then, the Nightmare King is just a figment of my imagination and he can’t really make me sick can he? Well they do say things like stress and anxiety can cause illness, and your mind can have horrifying effects on your body.

The chances are really small, but it’s probably best not to test out the powers of the mind against yourself.

So tonight, when you’re in bed, trying to get to sleep, whatever you do: do not think about the Nightmare King Oneirophobia. He isn’t real. But that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you.


	2. Claire Oswin and the Calm Before

**Chapter 1  
Claire Oswin and the Calm Before**

How many days had it been since that day? It hadn’t been that long ago but already I had forgotten so much. The next day I woke up with a killer headache but next to no nausea. My mom cooked hamburger for lunch and I garbled it down way too quickly, forcing down a nearly tasteless Gatorade with it. I wouldn’t call my condition perfect just yet, but it was certainly an improvement.

It hurt too much to focus for very long, so I went to work typing up my self-referential creepypasta in quick bursts when I could, taking the time to rest on the couch in my room. It was a recliner, with the flick of a switch it shot out a footrest. I leaned back and let my head rest against a neck pillow. Apparently spending nearly an entire day in bed had given me some major neck cramps.

**_Jacob:_** _So what’s up with that dream demon you mentioned earlier?_ _You writing a new story or something like that?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Something like that._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Oh? Color me intrigued. Taking a break from your Catscratch Haven project?_

**_Claire:_ ** _That wasn’t going anywhere so I figured I’d go for a change of pace._

_Hopefully this one goes a lot better._

**_Jacob:_ ** _What’s it about?_

**_Claire:_ ** _It’s kind of hard to explain beyond a demon king of nightmares. He gives you nightmares and makes you sick._

**_Jacob:_ ** _He makes you sick? Well that’s not very nice. If he ever attacks you let me know and I’ll take him on for you._

I typed up an explanation about everything, how I’d had that nightmare and gotten sick, how his first appearance was immediately followed by a terrible stomachache, and how no matter how hard I told myself he was all just a dream, none of that mattered once I was asleep. But putting it in text made the whole thing look silly.

**_Claire:_ ** _Lol. Thx._

Still, it was just a dream. People have strange dreams all the time. And as a writer this wasn’t even the first dream I used as the basis of the story. So why hadn’t I mentioned it yet, even a full day later? Something strange about the whole ordeal bugged me. Something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on? It’s not like Jacob would judge me for my subconscious.

We’d been best friends for years, having met on FanFiction.Net on a forum dedicated to the _Onyx Rose_ anime. It was the middle of the _Narwhal Festival_ filler arc and members were taking sides in an epic ship war. Cries of _“This arc isn’t canon, it doesn’t count”_ were met with _“It was approved by the original author, who gave his input on the season. If it didn’t align with his original plans, he would never have allowed it!”_

We were writers, through and through, working on countless fanfiction and original stories over the years. We never actually finished much, mind you. But I had so many unfinished works hidden away on my profile. Back during the _Narwhal Festival_ arc I wrote an Onyx Rose slash fic where the main character, Kousuke, reunited with his best friend Carlos after Carlos hadn’t appeared for a good seven years. My story stalled after about four chapters, right when the two actually reunited on screen.

I wanted the two to have a touching heartfelt reunion where they ran into each other’s arms and confessed all their feelings to each other, but everything I wrote looked too cheesy. Once that stalled, it was on to a more action packed fanfiction where they battled a new villainous organization of evil OCs I made. That lasted a whopping 60 chapters where the plot dragged on and on through fight after fight with no development of any sort in sight. Just one clash after the next with attacks flying left and right as the characters beat each other to a bloody pulp. (In fairness, looking at the later chapters of Onyx Rose, my writing style may have predicted the final arc!) After that it was on to other fandoms, _Naruto, Bleach, Yu-Gi-Oh, Power Rangers._ I made it a goal to hit as many different series as I could. Yet 90% of all my stories died soon after I started them. I could never maintain interest, jumping around from idea to idea.

Jacob stuck with me through it all, doing equally as bad with his works. He had a great story set in the Card Force universe, called Card Force Albatross, an OC work starring a great cast of characters. The main character was the younger brother of a former champion, trying to live up to his brother’s legacy years after he lost a match against a newcomer and vanished.

He’d made it to a really intense tournament arc with over a hundred different named competitors, but the ambition burned him out. One round in and he gave up, never looking back. I never did find out if the mysterious masked Enforcer actually was the main character’s missing brother, as the narrative implied. I suspected it may have been a red herring, but I kept waiting to ask. Part of me hoped he’d one day return to the story, but it never happened. Years later when I finally bit the bullet, he told me he’d forgotten what his plans were, and could barely even remember the masked man.

Meanwhile I hit a horrible bout of depression, and my writing took a turn for the worse. I stopped proof reading entirely, work ridden typos, horble spleling errors, and more all plagued every chapter. I just kept uploading, wanting to feel _something_ beating through my heart. But things kept getting worse each day. College was a mess. The work left me overwhelmed and struggling to keep up, like I was drowning in a riptide. Finding time to write became more challenging with each month, until the final blow came.

My laptop bluescreened on me. It shut off and refused to work again. It felt like I’d been shot. Writing was a huge part of my life and I couldn’t afford to get a new laptop. Sure, I could write things down on a tablet, but who would I share it with?

I was able to use the school computers to do my homework at least, but the extra trips started draining my soul. It was only about a half hour ride each way, but each assignment took hours to do once I got there. I had to spend more time at school each weekend and that left less time for me to take care of my mental health. I dropped out.

Jacob on the other hand, got busy with work. Between two jobs and dealing with his family, he found it harder to find time to write, and so his interest in the hobby took a backseat to other tasks that offered a better effort to reward ratio. We both kept reading, we watched anime, and played games just the same, but we went years without really writing anything.

Neither of us frequented the forums anymore, but luckily we’d still kept in touch, first exchanging email addresses, then later phone numbers when texting became more convenient. We spent years chatting about potential story ideas that we knew we’d never write, chatting about life and our health, or keeping up to date with the latest anime and game news. It wasn’t until recently that we’d both gotten back into the swing of things.

Jacob’s aunt bought him a new laptop for his birthday, so he sent me his old one. It was a simple Sony laptop. Growing up poor I never really had the chance to learn much about computers, I mostly owned hand me downs I had to be very careful with, so even though I owned a few I never really understood them as well as my peers. I couldn’t tell you the make or model, just that it was lightweight and easy to carry, with a shiny silver body. It came with a background screen of a character from a game I never played, but I never took the time to change it. I kept telling myself I would someday, but I never quite got around to it.

I wrote a few fanfics here and there, nothing epic as the sprawling multi arc adventures festering in my head over the years, just a few one shots here and there. Many of them only totaled up to a few hundred words, but it still felt great to get back in the game.

I made an account on AO3, taking the user name Apple Magus and began posting my stories. They got a few kudos here and there, and maybe a handful of comments if readers felt generous, but it was enough to make me happy.

Seeing my interest in this all gave Jacob a renewed interest in writing, so he began working on his own project, a new Card Force fanfic titled _Card Force Raven_. This one was about a group of orphans who all died in a fire. They get sent to the underworld and are given a chance to participate in a tournament, with the chance to return to life if they are victorious. Still fun, but a bit more restrained than his previous effort. The core cast was well built and I loved the lead OC.

I cheered him along the way of course, and I began work on my new project. Sadly, I couldn’t quite get it off the ground, so I kept it on the backburner as I worked on other stuff.

Currently, my offering to the Nightmare King is the longest work I’ve written in several years. That’s kind of a bummer to be honest, but I’ll take what I can get. Maybe I’ll get back to work on my other project soon, after I finish my second creepypasta for Oneirophobia of course. Not that I had _any_ ideas for a creepypasta mind you. I’m just not a particularly scary person.

**_Claire:_ ** _I’m going to take a shower. Haven’t had one in days._

I gathered my clothes and headed to the bathroom, hoping the hot water would help me collect my thoughts and relax. I really hadn’t showered in days, between how sick I was and the piercing headache, I really didn’t have the energy. But now it was time to relax. I drew the curtain tight, vanishing behind a sea of blue and images of turtles swimming about. Then I turned on both faucets and let water pour into the tub as I slowly lowered in my body, wincing as I dipped my arms into the rising waters. Steam filled the room as I splashed my face. Strands of my short black hair clung to my cheeks as the faucet gurgled like a babbling brook.

Dirt and grime seemed to rub right off as I did a preliminary scrub with my washcloth. Layers of gunk peeled away. Just watching it made me nauseous all over again. Strips of slimy gray lifting off from my skin. How was this even possible? It had only been a few days since I last washed myself. And with all this build up you’d think it would be visibly noticeable, but for better or worse it wasn’t. I quickly pulled the plug and watched the whirlpool of water drain away with a slurp, immediately refilling the tub with a second, fresher batch of water.

I splashed my face a few times, feeling the warm water run down my body. Once the water neared the top of the tub, I turned it off and let my body sink in, feeling it all wash over me, like swimming in a river. I stayed under as long as I could, not that I had the lung capacity for anything noteworthy.

But for a moment it was like I’d slipped into another world, free from all the troubles and worries of everyday life. I wanted to stay there forever and forget about all my problems. So I soaked away, letting my body turn pruny and wrinkled. I felt safe here, like something was watching over me. Turtles were one of my _‘aumākua_ , so maybe that had something to do with it.

I didn’t even think about fully scrubbing myself until the water had long since cooled.

Squirting some honey scented body wash onto my washcloth I quickly scrubbed away. I started with my legs, scrubbing as hard as I could to get the filth off, then I worked around my lower extremities. Holding the washcloth behind both hands I worked on my back as best as I could, but bending my shoulders that way hurt too much to really be effective. I used a gentle touch for my face and arms, had to be gentle on sensitive areas after all, then quickly submerged myself once more to wash it all away.

I drained the tub again and turned the shower on, electing to do my hair under a running stream. I used matching strawberry scented conditioner and shampoo, ever imagining myself a dainty princess with fruit fragrance hair, admired by all her subjects for being pleasant to sight, sound, and smell. It never really worked though, my hair always came out smelling oily as ever.

Once I’d finished cleaning myself I dried off with a towel and got dressed in a light blue camisole with black trim and a pink skirt. Not that I was going anywhere, but hey, no reason I can’t look fancy staying in. I quickly brushed my hair and returned to my bedroom, sinking back into my couch.

**_Claire:_ ** _My bedsheets look so awful, I need to change them soon but I don’t feel like it. Hopefully by tonight, I don’t want to sleep on the same sheets again._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Understandable. Hopefully you can get some extra energy soon. Any plans for the rest of the day?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Besides working on my story? Not really._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Good luck. Send me the first chapter when you’re done!_

**_Claire:_ ** _Yeah, of course!_

I felt like I’d stabbed my best friend in the back for some reason. It’s not like there was anything to worry about, really. After all, Oneirophobia isn’t real. It’s not like he could hurt Jacob.


	3. Jacob Hart and the Mystery of the Bloodstained Nightingale

**Chapter 2**

**Jacob Hart and the Mystery of the Bloodstained Nightingale**

It was nearly closing time at Manfred Public Library and I was dying to go home. We’re never very busy, this isn’t some big city with lots of residents. We’re more of a backwoods place with lots of dirt and trees and rundown buildings full of rot and termite. Biggest events we get around here are the annual pig festivals every July. My family dragged me along to the last one, it was far from an exciting experience, but at least the bacon tasted great.

The library itself isn’t too bad, we have a big enough budget to run the A.C. when it’s hot and the heater when it’s cold, not that we particularly needed it right now. The temperature was rather average, maybe leaning a bit to the warm side, but nothing too worrisome. The building wasn’t in great shape but at least it wasn’t falling apart. Sure the paint was peeling everywhere, the carpet was faded and musty, and the shelves were old enough to _feel_ dusty no matter how much you cleaned them, but this place had a certain warm charm to it. It was old, but in a “We have history and warmth” sort of way, not in a “We have ghosts ready to murderize your ass” sort of way.

We usually got a handful of patrons every day; school students searching for materials for book reports, a handful of avid readers searching for something new to get their hands on, and a few extremely bored people just looking for time to kill.

This usually meant I had lots of time to myself, and that means I can often do some writing in a Google Document every now and then, but I always needed part of me focused on the library if I wanted to do a good job, and some parts of story writing require the intense kind of focus I can only manage at home. For example, card battles. You don’t want to get interrupted in the middle of someone’s turn, you could forget how many cards were in their hand or what they had on the field, then the entire battle descends into chaos and you can’t find your thread.

I was eager to get home and work on my latest matchup, having finally overcome a bout of writer’s block. It had tormented me for days and nobody had any good advice to offer. _‘If you don’t know what to write, throw in a ninja attack.’_ That joke usually saw circulation around November, passed among those participating in NaNoWriMo, and it was getting on my nerves.

I’d spent ages trying to come up with a good opponent. I’ve been aiming for a mix of sympathetic enemies and complete assholes. On one hand I had characters like Officer White, an abusive police officer who tried to murder an innocent man only to die when his would be victim fought back and grabbed his gun. It was fun having someone kick his ass and turn his ghost into a pile of dust. But on the other I had Gregory, a young boy who died of an asthma attack after finally getting to see snow for the first time in his life. A lifelong dream fulfilled at an unfortunate cost. I got a few reviews complaining about how sad it was when he got erased from existence.

I’d been unable to come up with anything for my new chapter though; I wrote page after page of character ideas in my notebook, only to toss them out. Days passed with no progress and I began to worry. I didn’t want to lose momentum and let the embers of my passion die, not after finally getting back into the game. Claire came up with the idea to the childhood friend route and I loved it. None of the opponents so far had a personal connection to the main cast, so this was a fun twist.

I wrote the entire lead up today at work. It was a tearful reunion between two childhood friends, Rita and Samantha, who used to be like sisters before Samantha’s family moved. Samantha had recently died saving her little brother from a drunk driver, and now she and her team were battling for their second chance at life. And Rita would have to crush it so she could claim hers.

I loved it.

Claire can have a pretty twisted mind sometimes, but in a fun way.

I was staring blankly at my computer screen, editing some earlier parts as best as I could, when one of my coworkers waltzed up to my desk, wearing a super quizzical look on her face. Strands of long blonde hair brushed against the table as she leaned over. “You ever find any info about that book?”

I shook my head, immediately knowing which book she meant. She leaned back and sighed, twirling her hair around her finger in disappointment. “That’s a bummer, hopefully that kid can find it somewhere else. Maybe at a bigger library.” She crossed her arms, genuinely bummed on behalf of some kid she hadn’t even met. But that’s Rebecca for you.

She was twenty-years or so old, just a bit younger than me, and a really popular with the patrons. She had this friendly energy to her that seemed to liven the place up. Whenever someone needed help using the computer to find a book, they would always ask for Rebecca. I felt bad for piling so much of the work on her, but I made up for it the best I could when it came to things like reshelving and cleaning. And she didn’t mind helping the patrons, in fact she loved it, claiming that she chose this line of work to help people as best she could.

 _“Sure, it’s not lifesaving. It isn’t heart surgery or search and rescue, but it’s something I can do.”_ So when I told her about the mysterious boy who visited the other day, she seemed genuinely distraught that we couldn’t find what he needed.

I still remembered the memory fresh even though it happened a few days ago. A kid walked through the front door and went straight to one of the computers, excitedly clacking away at the keyboard as he searched for something.

He looked like he was about twelve and he was incredibly pale. Like almost ghostly in how white he was. But that wasn’t the most noticeable thing about him. He had short legs, just like you’d expect from a child, but his left thigh bore a rather large scar. I didn’t get a good look at it though. I do observe the people that I come across, but I try not to stare or be rude about sensitive issues, and I figured this poor kid didn’t want a stranger treating him like free entertainment. And besides, a scar isn’t that unusual or interesting anyway. Lots of people have them, they’re perfectly normal.

He wore a red hoodie with a black baseball cap sitting on top of a bed of messy black hair. He kept the cap pulled low and the bangs over his face, keeping his eyes hidden from view. He was the only patron that day and part of me hoped he’d ask for my help. I was in the middle of my writer’s block and I was dying for something to do, since Claire seemed to be a bit under the weather and I didn’t want to bother her much.

No sooner had he stopped typing then he got up and turned to leave, his face drooping as he hung his head low. I couldn’t help but call out to him. “Excuse me, is something the matter?” I stood up to meet him halfway. He just looked at me with tired eyes, full of disappointment. “Need some help?”

“I was looking for a book to read, but I couldn’t find it. The computer says it isn’t anywhere in the system. Not even in the other libraries.” That was a problem. If another library had a copy of the book, we could order it no problem. There was still hope of course, but this might take a bit more work.

“What’s it called? If you put in a request I can try to order it for you. You should check back in a few weeks and see if it’s come in.” I gave him my brightest smile, hoping it would be contagious. Looking at him was making my heart sink. Poor kid looked like someone had run over his puppy. He must have really wanted that book.

“It’s called _Bloodstained Nightingale,”_ he told me, unflinching.

I shivered at that title, wondering what kind of books children these days were reading. “What’s it about? The more I know the easier it should be to find. Do you know the name of the author?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t know who wrote it. It’s about two young children, a girl and a boy, who meet each other in a park one day. When monsters attack them they discover that they’re superheroes who have to use their magic powers to fight evil.”

It sounded straightforward enough, like your basic children’s novel about good vs evil. The heroes work together and fight evil monsters. So why did it have a name as morbid as _Bloodstained Nightingale‽_ “I promise I’ll do my best to get it in. If you remember anything else about the book, you can always send an email to the library to let us know. Would you like to leave your contact info so we can notify you if we receive a copy?” He shook his head.

“Thank you for your help, mister,” said the young boy before skipping off. It made me feel old, I’m only in my twenties, but I smiled sheepishly at him and waved. Wish I had gotten his name, but it’s not like it mattered. I had nothing to report to him.

That was a few days ago, and now I still hadn’t found anything. “I can’t find it on Amazon or Ebay,” I told her. She gnawed her lower lip in disappointment. “I checked a few used bookstores online, mentioned it on Google, even texted all my friends at my other job. Nobody has even _heard_ of this book. I’m starting to wonder if it’s actually the real title. That kid must have gotten mixed up.”

“But he had to get the title from somewhere, right?” Rebecca asked. “If it’s like, a phrase from the book, wouldn’t some fansite or forum show up on Google?”

“You’d think,” I shrugged my shoulders. “But maybe it just isn’t that popular. Could be nobody’s reading it, and that’s why no one’s heard of it. I should have asked him where he’d seen the book,” I lamented. But it was too late now, I hadn’t seen that kid since that day. Hopefully he’d show up again in a week or two to ask about the book. I’d be able to get more details then, but then I’d have to deal with that look in his eyes again.

Once, a young kid had accidentally ruined a library book by spilling soda all over it even though his mother repeatedly warned him to be careful and told him not to eat or drink anything while reading his library books. She dragged him back here and made him apologize profusely, shouting at him until he was on the verge of tears. Then she told him he was grounded and wouldn’t be able to play the new game he wanted.

I felt terrible for the kid and tried desperately to smooth things over with his mother, telling her it was okay and accidents like that happened all the time. Watching her yell at him so much made me uncomfortable and left me feeling just as helpless, even though I knew I’d be able to walk away from the situation. I remember the kid pleading with his mother to let him get the game he wanted, promising to do extra chores for a month if she relented.

The mental comparisons running through my head at the moment weren’t even close. The kid with the baseball cap looked way more heartbroken. It was like comparing an ice cube to an iceberg.

“Maybe this is for the best,” Rebecca sighed. “With a name like _Bloodstained Nightingale_ this doesn’t sound like a very kid friendly book. Not finding it could be a good thing.” She was trying to find a silver lining, but I could tell from her weak and tired frown that she was still disappointed. 

“You’re still going to look aren’t you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I made a few posts on tumblr and twitter, but so far no luck. And I’ve checked the catalogs twice. Nothing that pops up under _magic_ or _heroes_ has a title that remotely resembles _Bloodstained Nightingale._ And we really don’t have much to go on either.”

I looked out the open door at the orange light of the burning sky. “It’s going to be night soon. Too bad we don’t have any nightingales around here to sing for us.”

“I’ve heard they’re quite lovely, but I’ve never had the pleasure of hearing one myself. I suppose we could look it up on YouTube, but it really isn’t the same, is it?”

My phone chimed.

**_Claire:_ ** _New Card Force novel announced from the same writer who did Card Force Eloise._

I stared at my phone for a second. Claire was one of the biggest readers I knew, and she hated leaving mysteries unsolved. If I asked her to help look up Bloody Nightingale, I had a good chance of finding my answers. Only reason I hadn’t asked her before was because I knew she was sick and didn’t want to disturb her rest.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hey, ever hear of a book called Bloodstained Nightingale? I had a kid in here asking about it, but I can’t seem to find it online anywhere._

**_Claire:_ ** _Sounds familiar. Let me check._


	4. Jacob Hart and a Wish Forgotten

**Chapter 3**

**Jacob Hart and a Wish Forgotten**

The bookstore where I work isn’t much busier than the library, but it’s much harder to relax. No working on personal projects here, if I’m not moving about to clean, stock the shelves, or take inventory, then I’m standing behind the cash register waiting to help customers. Occasionally we get a few phone calls now and then, from customers looking for hard to find books, but those are pretty infrequent. At least I still had time to text my friends. Messages from Claire were about the only thing keeping me going through the drudgery of an average afternoon. I swear living in this city makes every day feel like a Monday.

We’re a small store; if you stand in the doorway you’ll be able to see everything with the turn of your head. We’ve got a selection of nonfiction in one of the back corners, a small area with beanbags and a couch full of children’s books, and young adult thrown into the other corner. Everything else is sort of laid about here and there with no real rhyme or reason. The front corners are usually used for special displays. Right now we have a collection of Christmas books for kids intermingled with highly sanitized retellings of the first Thanksgiving.

It’s kind of funny, I’m surrounded by books at both jobs, yet both these places look so different from each other. The walls here are covered in a luscious coat of sky blue paint that gives the whole place a nice calming feel. The carpet is a vibrant green like soft grass growing beneath the open sky. And the shelves are all a deep mahogany color, like trees growing in the forest. Yet despite this, they both have a warmth to them and a love of books you just can’t get from the book section at a supermarket or department store.

A few kids like to hang out here, relaxing in a lounge chair as they read some manga off the shelf. Some of them will show up for hours and go through an entire stack. If a kid seems particularly into something I’ll take note of it and check it out later when I’m off work. Usually I just pirate it online though, it’s much simpler and you can do it in the comfort of your own home, not that I can blame these kids for wanting a chance to get out.

The heavy metal door let out a loud creak as someone pushed it open. It had been doing that a lot lately, my boss would probably have me oil it soon. The sound was high pitched and grating and would have gotten on my nerves if not for the simple fact that I heard it so infrequently.

The customer was a young woman, her long black hair done up in gorgeous dreadlocks that fell down her back. She wore a simple blue blouse and dress pants, a bit more formal than your average teenager. I recognized her after a moment and recalled a time when she came in with her mother. The older woman promptly bragged about how smart her daughter was (not that I hold it against her) and how she was taking some sort of advanced placement business class in college already.

I guess she didn’t have any classes right now.

The young woman grabbed a stack of manga called _Wednesday Angel_ and found an armchair, sinking in comfortably as she placed the stack on the floor. She began reading Volume 1, the cover art displaying a white haired angel wrapping her arms around another woman. I’d never read it myself but I knew Claire was a huge fan. She’d tried convincing me to read it a couple of times.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hey someone here is reading Wednesday Angel._

**_Claire:_ ** _They have good taste. YumiKare OTP._

I laughed, Yumi and Karen were, as far as I could recall, Claire’s first femslash ship. She’d started reading it soon after we met. We didn’t talk as often or as close back in those days, but she’d bring it up every now and then, saying they were the female versions of Kousuke and Carlos.

I once beta read a ship fic for her, even though I knew nothing about the ship or its source material. Not that I really needed to know much, I was just checking for typos and major grammar errors. It was a straightforward story about Yumi and Karen going on a date at the aquarium where they’d first met as kids. Apparently in the canon manga, the aquarium shut down due to financial problems, and Yumi and Karen both expressed their sorrow about not getting to go one last time.

Claire wanted to rectify that by giving them one last chance to visit.

I’m not sure why that stood out to me so much, but the memory was fresh on my mind. I shot a quick glance at the woman in the chair, she had about ten volumes with her. Assuming she planned to read them all that would give me enough time to reread an old fanfic.

I still had Claire’s old account bookmarked, _AppleMagus413._ Her profile picture was a cute cartoon worm sticking out of an apple. I scrolled through her list of works, my heart feeling a little heavy as I saw how many of them were incomplete. I really liked her writing and it was sad to know that life got in the way of her creativity. Depression hit her hard, putting a stop to so many great stories she might have otherwise finished, and then there were all those years spent without a laptop.

Who knows where she might have been now if life hadn’t stopped her.

I scrolled through SasuNaru fanfics, Final Fantasy stories, Card Force, Yu-Gi-Oh, and more. Okay maybe some of the tragedy of incompletion fell on her and her overactive mind. She tried juggling five stories at once and kept dropping them all, not that I could blame her much. I used to be the same way too. My profile would have also been filled to the brim with unfinished stories like these, had it not been for my habit of deleting anything once I hit severe writer’s block. I remember Claire used to be so upset. _‘I wanted to reread that!’_ she’d always say, pouting. (At least, I imagine she pouted. Claire hated doing any sort of face to face web chatting, so I never forced her.)

I found her old Kousuke x Carlos ship fic, sitting comfortably with over 80 reviews, and a few general works for Wednesday Angel, but nothing for YumiKare. _‘That’s weird. Claire hates deleting her stuff. Maybe she just never published it.’_

I was about to text her when the young woman from earlier came up to my counter, placing all the volumes of Wednesday Angel in front of me. Apparently she only needed to sample a bit before deciding she wanted to buy them. I gave her my best customer service smile as I scanned them for her. “My friend really likes this series,” I said, making small talk, “she says it’s her favorite slice of life manga.”

“I watched the anime but it only has one season. I wanted to see how it ends. Seems like the anime cut out a lot though, so I figured it was best to start over.” She handed over her membership card, entitling her to a 10% discount, and paid with a debit card.

“Yeah, my friend did say the anime kind of did its own thing and that most fans hated it. She said she liked both though so she couldn’t really complain.” I saw my customer make a strange face that’s sort of hard to surprise, something akin to shock but quite subdued.

“That’s surprising. Your friend wasn’t kidding when she said most fans hated it. Everyone on all the forums talked about how they wanted to murder the director. He wanted to end the first season on a dramatic cliffhanger so they had Yumi and Karen get into a fight. The anime then got cancelled before they could resolve it. I was really surprised when I read that their fight wasn’t even canon.”

“I hate when adaptations add pointless drama,” I said as I slipped all her manga into a paper bag.” She took it from my hand and stuffed her receipt into the bag. “Enjoy your manga, Eliza,” I told her as she walked away. The door creaked as she pushed it open to leave.

Biting my lip, I tried to remember all the conversations Claire and I had about the series. I could have sworn she mentioned something about enjoying the anime’s ending. _“I didn’t watch the anime at first because a lot of fans said it was really bad. But I think it was kind of nice in its own way. And the ending wasn’t nearly as bad as people made it out to be.”_

I’d have to ask her for details about that sometime. But first of all, I had another Wednesday Mystery to get to the bottom of.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hey Claire, remember a few years ago, you had me beta that YumiKare fanfic for you? You did post that right? I can’t find it on your profile and I know you don’t typically delete your fanfiction._

_**Claire:** Sorry, I don’t remember that. I don’t even remember writing a YumiKare fic. I never had a good idea for a plot._

**_Jacob:_ ** _It was about them visiting the aquarium. I remember you said you needed a beta reader badly, because you wanted it to be really good. But you were too embarrassed to ask a stranger, so I volunteered to help even though I’d never read the manga._

**_Claire:_ ** _I really don’t remember that happening. There was an aquarium in the manga though, so that part of your memory isn’t manufactured at least._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Well of course it isn’t manufactured, it’s a real event that really happened. You’re the one that forgot._

**_Claire:_ ** _You’re right though, I rarely delete my fanfiction. And if you can’t find it, then that means it isn’t there. Ergo, I never wrote it._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Ergo, you totally wrote it and I beta’d it for you, but you never posted it._

**_Claire:_ ** _Maybe you beta’d for someone else?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _Not likely. You’re the only friend I have who reads Wednesday Angel. And you’re the only friend I’d actually take the time to beta read for. Are you sure you don’t remember?_

**_Claire:_ ** _I think I’d remember this. Idk, but asking someone to beta read for me is a pretty big deal. I don’t think I’d forget. Then again a lot has happened these past few years, so it’s hard to say. You’re right, I probably did just forget._

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. We both had pretty terrible memories. It wouldn’t be _that_ strange for her to forget a story she wrote, especially with as many as she had written. There were over 20 on her profile right now. But at the same time I couldn’t just leave this conversation open ended this way.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Too bad. It was really good and I kind of wanted to read it again._


	5. Claire Oswin in Bloodstained Memories

**Chapter 4**

**Claire Oswin in Bloodstained Memories**

Bloodstained Nightingale. I couldn’t tell you why that name sounded familiar. But ever since Jacob asked me about it, it’s been stuck in the back of my mind, like a dirty piece of gum stuck to your shoe. You scrape at it all you want, like a festering scab, but it just won’t peel away. Sure, you could pretend it isn’t there, but you know better. Now the mystery of _Bloodstained Nightingale_ is haunting my every waking thought.

Still, there are worse things to get stuck on your mind. It’s better than thinking about that desert the entire day.

I checked my usual sites, TV Tropes and Wikipedia didn’t have any articles about this series. Fanfiction.Net and AO3 had zero content for it. Good Reads and Amazon showed zero results. Maybe the kid just got the title confused. I once had a neighbor who kept calling _‘Once Upon a Time’ ‘Storybrooke’_ because she couldn’t remember the right title.

Of course if you look up _‘Storybrooke’_ online you get results about _‘Once.’_ Not the case here. _‘Bloodstained Nightingale’_ didn’t turn up anything relevant. I normally would have written it off as a simple prank, except I couldn’t suppress the nagging feeling I’d heard of it before.

It was breakfast time, I sat at the kitchen table, searching for the book _again_ even though I had zero reason to believe anything different would turn up. I let out a drawn out sigh as I closed my laptop.

“Something wrong?” My mother asked.

She smelled like cigarette smoke. She always did. She would not stop smoking. If she ate a snack, she needed to go outside to smoke. If she woke up from a nap, she needed a cigarette. If someone called her on the phone, she had to smoke. If she farted very loud she wanted a follow up cigarette.

I love my mother but the nauseating fumes that clung to her clothing and skin were too much for me. Just being around her often left me coughing and gagging as I struggled to breathe. I really wish she would at least take a few minutes to air herself out, but she never did.

At least the apartment no longer smelled of the suffocating cigarette fumes that once clung to the walls and furniture. It was an oppressive atmosphere. I had to hold my breath every time I wanted to pass through the living room to get in our out. But the management had recently banned indoor smoking, and though I felt they were taking advantage of their power and making my mother suffer, I was glad I could breathe again.

“Just trying to find a book online. My friend, the one who works at the library, said a kid came in looking for a book called _Bloodstained Nightingale,_ but he can’t find it. Nobody’s heard of it. But I swear the title sounds familiar, I just can’t remember where from.”

“I remember you used to really like nightingales when you were a kid, but I don’t remember anything that,” she paused, “gruesome.” She stepped toward the refrigerator. Our kitchen is incredibly tiny and when I’m sitting down in the chair, there often isn’t enough room to fit behind me. I pulled the chair up, scrunching my body as close to the table as I could, like a magician’s assistant contorting her limbs to stow away in a hidden compartment. Bending this way sent a sharp pain through my upper back, but I managed to bear it as my mom grabbed a Styrofoam tray of raw meat from the freezer.

She set it on a plate to defrost for dinner and quickly grabbed a bunch of cheese and luncheon meat. “Sandwiches for lunch sound okay?”

“Sure.” I let out a sigh of relief as I pushed myself away from the table, glad to no longer be confined to such a cramped space. I really wish we could afford a bigger kitchen, but we’re both disabled, so this is what we are stuck with.

“Can you go buy some soda?” Mom asked. I nodded as I stood up to grab my wallet and keys.

**_Claire:_ ** _Going on a food run._

I texted Jacob.

***

The convenience store is really close to the apartment, for better or worse. You can literally see it from outside the kitchen window. It makes it really easy to get snacks when we’re hungry and don’t have a ride to the grocery store to buy food, but convenience store prices can add up real quick. Sometimes a shopping trip will be delayed for days and we end up wasting a hundred dollars on convenience store food for two nights when the same money could feed us for a week at regular store prices.

I walked through our parking lot, doing my best to avoid the plumes of smoke coming from the neighbors noisily chatting away by the palm tree. I kept my gaze low. No offense to any of them but I had no desire to begin conversations with any strangers. My goal was to get to the store, grab some soda, and get back as quickly as possible. Once I got to the traffic pole, I quickly pushed the button and waited for the Walk signal. Not to sound too impatient, but it really can take forever, sometimes you’ll just stand there watching cars drive by as the unwavering red hand tells you not to cross.

A sharp twinge of pain seized my upper stomach, like I’d swallowed a sharp object whole and it was now poking at my insides. I locked up, willing the pain to go away. It lasted only for a second before subsiding and I let out a breath of relief. The Walk signal materialized, as if the universe was taking pity on me. I made sure to double check anyway, you can _never_ trust drivers.

So often I’ve been in the middle of the crosswalk only to have one of them drive in front of me. Or they’ll be waiting to turn a corner without checking for pedestrians. You try to walk and suddenly they attempt vehicular homicide on you.

I crossed the street once I was sure I was safe. A bright light from my pocket caught my eye. My phone usually only lit up that way when I got a text. My hand twitched as I fought the urge to check it, even though it was probably just Jacob wishing me a safe trip.

I waited until I made it safely to the other side, opening the messaging app only to be greeted by a message from my mother.

**_Mom:_ ** _I found one of your old books you wrote about a nightingale. I’ll leave it on the table for you._

I tried to compose a response in my head, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Sure I had a few tablets full of hand written stories that I’d tried writing over the years. Like my fanfiction these were all left unfinished and abandoned, but I often felt too attached to throw them away. So instead I just stored them in a bunch of boxes that gathered dust in my closet. I felt a bit like a hoarder every time I thought about them, but they sparked too much joke to give up.

That being said, I kept most of these to myself without telling my mother, so I had no idea how she knew to look for this. Still, there was no point speculating when I could just ask her in a few minutes.

Walking around the hedge that bordered the parking lot, I made my way to the convenience store, glad to see there weren’t many customers in the shop. The smell of cooking chicken was a bit overwhelming today, there harsh odor of burnt oil assaulted my nose and made breathing uncomfortable. I gave in to a coughing fit as I moved to the back of the store. I hate it when the store starts to smell like this, so I try to get in an out as quickly as possible. Plus, I tend to get antsy when I have to wait in long lines.

They kept the coke on the lower shelf. I opened the door, a blast of cool air hitting me like a mage casting an ice spell, and crouched down to grab the soda. My stomach twisted, like someone had stabbed me with a knife and turned the handle. I held my hand over my mouth, fighting back a wave of nausea. Fire burned inside, a strong ache across my body. I snatched up a bottle for my mom and rose to my feet, taking deep breaths.

Just as quickly as it came, the pain and nausea had vanished. I panted a little, and felt a subtle wetness on the side of my head from sweat, but otherwise I felt fine. I grabbed myself a ginger ale to drink, just in case my stomach acted up again, and took it to the counter. The old lady there smiled at me. Her nametag said she was named Gwen, and she and my mom seemed to get along pretty well, often taking time to chat when there weren’t any other customers around. If the store smelled particularly bad during those chats I’d usually wait outside, but at other times I’d just hang around. She seemed like a nice woman, working hard to take care of her two children.

“Glad to see you’re doing better,” said Gwen. “Your mom told me you got sick.”

“Yeah, I was bed ridden almost the entire day. But I’m better now.” I slid my debit card into the reader and entered my PIN. “The ginger ale and Gatorade really helped, I’m really glad this store is here.” Gwen bagged my drinks for me and I thanked her and wished her a good afternoon.

I followed the hedge back to the traffic pole, waiting for the signal to change again. Heavy exhaust fumes hung in the air and I struggled to maintain composure. Another wave of nausea struck, like I’d eaten something bad and wanted to throw up. I held my paper bag in one hand as I held my other hand against my stomach, trying to massage the pain away.

***

When I made it back home, I saw a spread of sandwiches on the counter. Mom had apparently taken the time to prepare them for us. I handed her a soda and grabbed a plate, filling it with two sandwiches and some barbecue potato chips that she’d opened.

I took a large bite of my sandwich, chewing it rapidly like I was in a race against time. I only had 1440 minutes in a day and I was not going to waste more than I needed on food. It was turkey on white bread, with provolone cheese and just the perfect blend of mayonnaise and honey mustard. I took another bite when mom suddenly pushed a tablet toward me. I blinked, recognizing my handwriting on the cover.

It was a simple black and blue composition notebook and in the white space on the cover I had written in pen the title Nightingales, using different colors for consonants and vowels, a habit I used to have as a child. Flipping the page open, I felt my stomach lurch. Memories came flooding back. I definitely remembered this story now, even if the title had eluded me.

I flipped through the book and realized that it was pretty full, the story went on for about 150 pages before halting to a stop. I turned back to the first page, staring at the neat handwriting that filled the page from top to bottom. It was so neat and organized, clearly written by someone with great motor skill.

I flipped a few pages to see my own chicken scratch handwriting staring back at me.

My phone lit up.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hope your trip is quick and easy._

**_Claire:_ ** _Just got back actually._

**_Claire:_ ** _So my mom found an old tablet of mine. It has a story called Nightingales that I_

I paused for a moment, struggling to complete that sentence.

**_Claire:_ ** _So my mom found an old tablet of mine. It has a story called Nightingales that I wrote with a friend when I was little._

No need to divulge the full truth just yet. Not when it would just make Jacob worry about me. He didn’t need to know that this book was co-written by the first boy to ever break my heart.

**_Jacob:_ ** _What’s it about?_

**_Claire:_ ** _I don’t actually remember much, just that it’s about fighting monsters. Give me a minute to reread._

I devoured my turkey sandwich like it was a ticking time bomb in need of disposal and ran back to my room with the book in one hand and my bottle of ginger ale in the other. I was going to need it if I planned to spend any time thinking about _him_. Even now, years later, he still turned my stomach into a mushy pile of good just thinking about him.

***

Though the book was 150 pages long, it was still written by a couple of children, and so it was easy to go through them all really quick.

**_Claire:_ ** _Okay it starts off at a playground. A young boy and girl meet and become friends. Then a monster attacks and they discover they have magical powers and they have to work together to fight the monsters._

**_Jacon:_ ** _That actually sounds like Bloodstained Nightingale. That kid said it’s about a boy and girl fighting evil monsters._

**_Claire:_ ** _That is a strange coincidence. Remind me, what else did he say about it?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _That’s literally it. He just said they’re superheroes who use magic to fight monsters._

**_Claire:_ ** _So the two kids are named Clara and Bradley. Bradley is a magical knight who wields a powerful sword and can create invincible shields that reflect monster attacks. Clara uses the four elements of water, earth, wind, and fire to do magic. She calls out her attacks like a Sailor Moon OC._

**_Claire:_ ** _An old wizard tells them that they have to find the missing princess of the magical Star Kingdom in order to restore balance and fend off the monsters. I actually remember this part, Clara is the princess but she’s in hiding._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Any nightingales yet?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Nope, none at all._

**_Claire:_ ** _Okay the Clara reveal takes all of five pages. Not a real big mystery there. Guess I just wanted my self-insert to be a princess._

**_Jacob:_ ** _So how come she went missing?_

**_Claire:_ ** _No clue. Guess I just wanted to have her be a super cool mystery princess. Like, I was ten. Don’t go expecting anything deep here. I was in Elementary._

**_Claire:_ ** _Chapters all seem more or less the same. They go somewhere and meet some people and then save them from a monster. They just met a farmer who was starving because a giant bird kept eating all his crops. But then they fight the bird and beat it with their magic._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hope the farmer thanked them._

**_Claire:_ ** _They don’t even see him again. They just move on to the next problem._

The writing alternated between neat perfectionist handwriting and my nearly illegible mess. I vaguely recalled the pattern, sometimes we’d work things out together and one of us would write it down, but often times we’d trade the tablet between us and take turns writing on our own.

I felt an arctic chill down my spine as I read the next part. Clara and Bradley met a young woman named Heather, a member of the local dance troupe. They were getting ready for a performance of a ballet called _Nightingale River,_ an obvious play on Swan Lake. They asked for help fighting off an evil ghost that wouldn’t leave them alone. It kept tearing curtains to shreds and ripping up their costumes.

I vaguely recalled this part.

**_Claire:_ ** _So they met some dancers who are doing a ballet called Nightingale River._

**_Jacob:_ ** _How very Swan Lake. Hope it isn’t very bloody._

I kept turning the pages as Heather and Bradley engaged in some extremely G Rated flirting. “I like your hair. It is very pretty.” “Your muscles are really cool.” I turned another page, being greeted by my familiar scribbles masquerading as handwriting.

The monster attacked. It was a ghost in a black cloak with sharp iron claws. Bradley swung his sword, but the ghost used the power of intangibility to sink through the floor. Bradley missed and dropped his sword. That’s when the ghost struck.

_“The monster’s claw tore through Heather and she screamed in pain. There was blood flying everywhere and she died instantly. Bradley was very sad, but there wasn’t anything he could do. Clara turned to face the ghost. “Bradley, stand back, I’ll save you.”_

What the Hell‽

The rest of the fight continued as normal. They beat the ghost just as easily as any other monster and continued their journey to the next town. It seemed I wanted to just forget about it all, but my friend wasn’t having any of that. In the next chapter, they received a letter from Heather.

 _“I’m alive again. A magic witch used a potion to save me!”_ If my younger self had any issue with the deus ex machina, she kept it to herself.

**_Claire:_ ** _Nothing special happened here. I can’t tell why this story is named after Nightingales._

Clara and Bradley didn’t seem to have a larger goal in mind, they just went from place to place fighting new monsters. There didn’t even appear to be a big bad mastermind behind the curtain for them to fight. This continued for several more chapters as they fought all sorts of monsters. Chimeras, dragons, a mutant ostrich.

Whenever a new chapter began, we immediately started a new page, and chapters were fairly short, only a few pages. Meet a civilian, hear their problem, kill the monster. I tore through the book pretty quickly.

**_Claire:_ ** _Okay I’m almost at the end, this looks like the last chapter._

I flipped ahead a few pages and there didn’t seem to be any chapters beyond this, so I shrugged my shoulders and began reading the final chapter.

***

Clara and Bradley were very hot. The sun was high in the sky and it was being very mean. The two of them were very thirsty and they were out of water. “Can’t you make water with your magic?” Bradley asked.

“Yes, I can, but it is attack water. You can’t drink attack water!” Clara shook her head.

Clara and Bradley were in a desert. There were cacti everywhere and scorpions crawling all around the rocks. It was a long walk and their feet hurt, but they had to come because people were asking for help.

They finally made it to town. There was a saloon that sold grape juice. Standing outside was a man waiting there for them. He had a big cowboy hat and handed them both a glass of grape juice.

“Thank you,” said Clara. “This tastes delicious. I was really thirsty.” She drank it all down in one gulp.

“Thank you,” said Bradley. He drank the grape juice too. “We came because we heard you needed help with a monster. We fight monsters so we came to stop it.”

The cowboy frowned. He had a big mustache and he looked like an old grandpa. He crossed his arms and chewed on a toothpick. “There’s a really big scorpion. It has big pinchers and a long tail. It comes to town every day. It fights everyone and stings them and then it runs away again. Right now it is far out in the desert.”

“My feet hurt,” said Clara. “Can we rest first before we go fight it?”

Bradley shook his head. “We have to be quick. If we wait too long it might come and sting people. That would be bad.”

Clara agreed. She did not want people to get stung.

“I’ll carry you,” Bradley offered.

Clara climbed onto Bradley’s back and they set out. It was another long walk into the desert. The farther they got, the emptier the desert was. There were no cacti anymore, no rocks, no scorpions or bugs, just plain sand everywhere.

***

I slammed the book shut. I tried to steady my breathing as I took lots of deep shallow breaths. Here were a couple of characters from my childhood, in a story I’d written ages ago, preparing to do battle in the desert landscape of my nightmares. _‘Okay, so apparently that desert was a part of my subconscious. No big deal right? We all have childhood memories floating around in the backs of our heads.’_ I decided to text Jacob.

**_Claire:_ ** _So Clara and Bradley go into the desert to fight an evil scorpion that stings everyone, but the writing ends before they can find him._

For some reason I still haven’t told Jacob the full story behind my nightmares. Just the basic overview of a story I was writing. I also still needed to post the story online. _‘But do I really want to? It’s just a rambling piece about a nightmare I had.’_

**_Jacob:_ ** _So, no idea why this story was called Nightingales?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Nope. None whatsoever. I do know that I’ve always loved strange titles with metaphorical or symbolic meanings, so that’s probably it. Of course I was in Elementary or Middle School when I wrote this, so whatever it was can’t be -that- deep._

I took the tablet to a shelf where I could store it for safe keeping, when suddenly a sharp pain lanced through my stomach. I tossed the book aside as I ran to my nearby trash bucket, bending over as quick as I could. I’d just started to bend my knees when I felt the sharp acidic taste of bile rise up in my throat, and I vomited into my bucket. It felt like something had clamped down on my stomach. Tears stung my eyes and I retched out again, though this time nothing came.

I stared at the shallow pool of vomit swirling around my otherwise empty trash bag, shaking numbly as my body went cold.


	6. Claire Oswin in Authors Love it When You Leave Comments on Their Works

**Chapter 5**

**Claire Oswin in Authors Love it When You Leave Comments on Their Works**

I woke up the next morning at around 7:20. My head felt heavy with fog and I barely had the energy to keep my eyes open, but at the same time I was too antsy to go back to bed. This happened pretty much any time I posted a new work online, I wanted to see the hits roll in, even though they rarely did.

Sometimes I’d stay up for hours past midnight just to see the Hit counter climb up to 12. I’d nearly done the same last night, so I turned my phone off and forced myself to go to bed. It meant hours of tossing and turning with nothing to do, but lose myself in my thoughts.

I pressed the power button on my phone, anxiously waiting for the screen to boot up. I sent a quick good morning text to Jacob and quickly checked my AO3 account.

**_I had a Horrifyingly Bizarre Dream the Other Day_ ** _by **Apple Magus**_

_Original Work_

_ Creator Chose not to use Archive Warnings, CW Horror, CW Illness, CW Emetephobia, CW Unreality, CW Fourth Wall based Horror _

_A young woman gets incredibly sick and has an intense fever dream. She meets a demon king of nightmares who makes her an offer she can’t refuse._

_Language: English Words: 5679 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 15 Kudos: 43 Hits: 314_

I stared at my story surprised to see that I’d gotten over 300 Hits over night and over a dozen comments. Okay I knew that wasn’t that much overall in the grand scheme of things, lots of stories got way more, but it made me happy to see so many people had commented. Hopefully they were _nice_ comments, but I suppose I’d find out in a moment.

I clicked, my heart stopping as I scrolled down to the comments.

**_Sophia:_ ** _The ‘you’re next’ angle in horror is a bit overdone, but I do like the idea that it’s self-inflicted. That the nightmare king isn’t really a threat to you unless you allow him to be._

I had to admit, it was a cliché I _hated._ Whenever I saw it in a story, I rolled my eyes. Yet my fever dream had been so vivid that I really wanted this story out of my system. I considered leaving it out of my final version, but I couldn’t come up with any alternatives for the demon’s behavior. And besides, when I tried to leave it out, it felt like I was lying. A strange coil of guilt wrapped around my stomach until I put it back.

**_PhantomBandit:_ ** _Was this based on an actual nightmare? I hope not, that sounds terrible. I hate being sick._

I wrote them a quick response.

**_Apple Magus:_ ** _Yeah, lol. I haven’t been this sick in years. Pretty much everything is taken directly from my dream. You have no idea how awkward it is to wake up thinking you’ve been cursed by a demon, only to remember five seconds later that demons aren’t real._

**_DesertPrincess_ ** _: I fell asleep soon after reading this and I dreamed of a desert. Curse you and your pink elephants. I feel fine though, so I guess the demon king couldn’t get to me!_

**_CandleRift1270:_ ** _That was a really fun story to read, although now I’m worried that I may have been cursed by an evil nightmare demon. So, are we getting another story? The nightmare demon did say he wanted TWO creepypastas._

**_Max:_ ** _Nice creepypasta._

It wasn’t a long comment, but even still, it made me happy. Writers love nice comments. If you’re a reader you should try leaving some if you’re able!

**_ElaineAnderson:_ ** _Not a fan of stories where the reader is the next person to be cursed. But I guess I can give this one a pass since you gave us an easy way out. We just don’t have to think about the desert or the nightmare king, right? Shouldn’t be too hard to manage, I’ll just think about mushrooms or something._

**_NightmareDemonKingOneirophobia:_ ** _I approve of your first story, Apple Magus. Now I await your second creepypasta. Hurry to it or I am afraid I may need to take drastic measures._

I rolled my eyes at the last one. It was an anonymous commenter, posting in character. It was a terrible joke, but the effort was appreciated, so I chuckled a little.

**_ErrorMushroom:_ ** _I get what you were going for by saying you could barely remember the details of the fever dream, and it did help emphasize the hopelessness you must have felt in that situation, but I do wish we knew more about the allies and the fights you had. It almost feels like cheating to say you don’t remember._

True. When I tried to write it out I did try coming up with more details for the allies who fought alongside me. But my mind simply drew a blank and I decided it was better not to force it.

**_Brandon:_ ** _Don’t you think it was unfair of you to subject people to this? What if somebody gets sick for real because you unleashed the demon king on them? Won’t you feel guilty, Claire?_

I froze, shaking my head. Did I write my name in the story and forget it? I did a quick search with ctrl + f, but it didn’t turn up. Maybe this reader had found it from another site. I do have links to my AO3 up on tumblr and I know I’ve used my real name there. Still it felt surreal to see somebody use my real name out of the blue like that.

And from someone with that name.

In the end I ignored it. No sense in telling them that nightmare demons aren’t real and can’t actually hurt anybody.

**_TheTemperantQueen:_ ** _Wow, that was really good. It actually gave me a nightmare. I was trapped in the desert, fighting a giant scorpion monster that worked for the king. Luckily I had two people helping me, a magical princess and her bodyguard knight. We were able to beat the scorpion together, but I woke up feeling a little under the weather. For a second I almost thought I had been cursed for real._

I froze again. Scorpions obviously dwell in the desert _,_ so a scorpion monster wouldn’t be that out of place. But a magical princess and a knight? I wanted to ask what they looked like, but there was no way I could manage to ask that without coming off weird.

**_LostHelios_ ** _: I actually read this last night. It’s decently written albeit a little cliché. But this morning I woke up feeling really sick. I’ll spare you the gross details, but I thought it was a funny coincidence so I thought I’d let you know._

Another reader got sick? I shook my head. This was just a coincidence. No way any of this was real. Probably just some self-fulfilling prophecy. They thought too much about getting sick, so they got sick. Simple tricks of the mind. Like when you hypnotize someone and say you’re putting a hot coin on their skin. People have been known to get blisters because their mind can’t tell the difference between reality and make believe.

**_PrincessClara:_ ** _People are already getting sick, but it’s not too late. You can still take this down before anybody else gets infected._

I gulped seeing the name, thinking I must have imagined it. But no, this person really chose the name PrincessClara. It was another guest, no account. I started to worry for a second, before reminding myself that this was all some strange coincidence. Nothing strange was going on here, other than a few people who apparently believed in magical nightmare demons.

 _‘They’re probably just trolls, or really bad internet comedians. I doubt they’re actual believers,’_ I told myself.

**_RainbowVirgil:_ ** _Wow, the descriptions of being sick were really intense. I felt super nauseous just reading this. I actually kind of feel like I’m burning up. Guess I should go take a nice long shower to cool down or something. Great story._

**_CarterMaxwell:_ ** _That was pretty scary. For a second I was worried I’d actually be cursed._

**_Elphachiel:_ ** _I liked it, but I’m a bit confused. Who was the maiden that they needed to save? It sounded like it was going to be something dramatic but it never got mentioned again._

**_Apple Magus:_ ** _It’s me. The maiden was me. The idea is that they all tried really hard to help me, but by posting the story I am betraying them all._

**_JaredRD:_ ** _Yikes, sounds like someone is in trouble. Good luck coming up with a second creepypasta to appease the demon (assuming you are going that route.) I wonder if Jacob will be okay or if he’s going to get cursed too._

What

The

Hell‽

I did another ctrl+f. There’s no way I would have used Jacob’s real name like that, not without asking first. But I got a hit immediately. Multiple. Not only did I mention him by name when introducing him, every text he’d sent was prefaced with his name. It was only supposed to say ‘friend.’

_After a few bites, I’d had enough. I threw the rest away and texted my friend, Jacob._

**_Apple Magus:_ ** _Thanks for the comment but I need to delete it. I wasn’t supposed to use my friend’s real name in this. Guess I slipped up without realizing. I’ll blame the remnants of my fever._

Luckily I was able to edit the story with no delays. AO3 can be a confusing mess at times, a messy labyrinth of buttons that takes forever to navigate, so I was glad I didn’t have any trouble getting rid of my friend’s name. he probably wouldn’t mind if I asked him, but I still wasn’t sure I even wanted to tell him about this story.

_‘Why not? Oneirophobia isn’t real. It can’t hurt him.’_

I scrolled down to the last comment.

**_ReverieBlossom:_ ** _That was a really fun story. The desert reminded me of Bloodstained Nightingale. Did you perhaps use it for some inspiration?_

My heart skipped a beat. I immediately typed a response, my fingers flying as fast as I could. I made a few typos, but managed to catch them before hitting send.

**_Apple Magus:_ ** _Never actually read it, though I have heard of it. I haven’t been able to find any copies anywhere, no matter where I look. I don’t even know the name of the author. Do you know where it’s sold? What’s it about?_

I prayed that ReverieBlossom would respond.

My phone lit up.

**_Jacob:_ ** _You’re up early. You sleep okay?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Kind of. I think I might need a nap soon though._

_Good news though._

_I found somebody online who says they read Bloodstained Nightingale. I sent them a message asking for details, hopefully they’ll respond quickly._


	7. Jacob Hart and the Birds with Broken Wings

**Chapter 6**

**Jacob Hart and the Birds with Broken Wings**

It was early morning the next day and Rebecca and I were back in the library. We found a few books in the drop off, so I quickly checked those in and reshelved them, then joined Rebecca to help with the daily cleaning. We wiped down the shelves, dusted books, scrubbed tables, and cleaned the computers. Our spray bottles squeaked as we shot everything down with lemon scented disinfectant. Soon a subtle citrus scent overtook the library as we did our work. We kept our eyes peeled for any patrons that might need help, but so far we were undisturbed.

“Any word on Bloodstained Nightingale?” Rebecca asked. She let out a high pitched sneeze as a bit of dust got to her. Adjusting her glasses, she gave the shelf a disapproving look, as if a proper scolding would prevent further aggravation of her allergies.

“Claire actually said she found someone who read the book. She sent them a message but she’s waiting for a response.” I checked my phone and did some quick mental calculations. “It should about 5 in Hawaii right now, so for all I know she got a response but she’s asleep. We should know in a few hours at least.”

Rebecca cracked her knuckles and put all her effort into scrubbing the shelf. It felt like a losing battle, the thing seemed to exude a sense of dirtiness no matter what we tried. The strongest and harshest cleaning chemicals did nothing to stop the these shelves from reeking of oldness, dirt, and grime. It seemed the only way we’d ever get rid of that feeling was to throw the shelves out entirely, but we had no room in the budget for replacements.

Still, having shelves that felt dirty was a far cry from actually letting them be dirty.

The cleaning process never took that long, especially when the two of us kept each other company with conversation. “So did Claire say where she found this person? I don’t mean to overwhelm them but maybe we can contact them too. If they get more messages they might be more likely to respond.”

“Or, like you said, we could overwhelm them. They might just delete our messages and never tell us anything. Not that it matters, because she didn’t actually mention where she found them. I’m guessing tumblr or twitter probably.” We worked our way to the nonfiction section, occasionally taking the time to grab particularly dusty looking tomes to give them a quick wipe down. I grabbed one nasty looking book, its plastic cover caked in slimy grime, not quite paying attention as I spritzed it down and wiped my washcloth in a circular motion.

_The Clementine’s Guide to Birds._

On a whim I flipped it open. “What the?” The book was missing several pages, torn straight out from the middle. “Someone ripped some of the pages out,” I told Rebecca. I handed her the book so she could see. She squinted at it in disbelief.

“We can take it out of circulation,” she said, flipping through the book. “Seems it wasn’t ever checked out that much, so at least it isn’t a huge loss. Still, I can’t believe somebody would actually damage a library book like that.” She flipped to the back end, checking the index, then flipped to the torn pages. Biting her lip, she looked up at me. “They tore out the section about nightingales.”

“You don’t think that kid could have-” I shook my head, mentally scolding myself for making baseless accusations. “No, he didn’t seem like the type. Besides I watched him the entire time. He was only here for a few minutes, he didn’t have time to tear any pages out.”

“He could have come back some other day when you weren’t working,” Rebecca suggested.

I shook my head. “No, I’ve talked to all our coworkers. They’re all on the lookout for him, but none of them have seen a young boy his age. There really isn’t much going on in here, I doubt any of them would have missed him. Not since everyone is so eager to help.

“The mystery of a non-existent book was honestly one of the most interesting things to ever happen in this library. Well, until now I guess.

“And like I said, he seems like a nice kid. I doubt he’s the type to do something so rude.”

I saw two other bird books on the shelf and pulled them both out on a whim. Opening up the first book I cringed when I saw the torn pages. They weren’t even removed cleanly, you could see the bits of paper still stuck inside, like an open wound. It made me think of a broken bone that had pierced the skin. I cross referenced the missing pages with the index, confirming my suspicions. “This book is also missing its section on nightingales.”

When I checked the last book, it was exactly the same. Someone had torn out the section on nightingales. “What the Hell‽ Who would do this‽” I took the three books with me to the computer as I logged in to document the damage.

Rebecca abandoned her cleaning to join me. I typed away at the screen, entering the titles of the books only to receive an error message. “That’s weird. It says these aren’t in the system.” I tried doing a search by the authors instead, but I got the same error message. When that didn’t work, I checked the spines and entered their call numbers.

The computers assured me that no such books existed in the system.

“This is really weird,” said Rebecca. “I’m texting the head librarian and asking her what she wants us to do.” She quickly typed away on her phone, sent her message, and clung to her screen like this was life or death. I had to admit, this was a bit strange, but there was probably a rational explanation.

Maybe someone had brought these in from another library by mistake. _‘Yeah, I bet that’s it,’_ I told myself, checking the details stamped onto the inside of the books.

**_Manfred Public Library._ **

So much for that theory. I turned to Rebecca to see if she’d gotten anything, when suddenly her phone chimed.

“Director says it’s weird, but not too big a deal. We can just throw the books out or keep them if we want them for ourselves. I feel kind of bad for throwing a book away, but I don’t really see a point in holding on to a book that’s missing a few pages.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders. I picked up the books off the library table, and nearly let out a gasp as I fell backward. I could hear Rebecca’s high pitched shriek of terror as I knocked over my chair, sending it clattering to the ground.

A scorpion scuttled out from behind the stack of books.

Rebecca grabbed one of the books and squashed the scorpion before it could get away. “Well, we were throwing these out anyway.” She grabbed the three books and unceremoniously dumped them in the nearby trashcan. “That’s enough weirdness for me today,” she said as she sprayed the scorpion’s guts with her cleaning bottle. She vigorously rubbed over the table with her washcloth, as if trying to eradicate every last microscopic remnant of the dreaded arachnid.


	8. Jacob Hart and the Scorpion That Wasn’t There

**Chapter 7**

**Jacob Hart and the Scorpion That Wasn’t There**

_**Claire:** Morning._

Technically it was the afternoon, but time zones were tricky and I wasn’t going to complain. It was the day after the incident with the torn books and the scorpion, and I was back at the bookstore. Christmas music played over the speakers and I did my best to mentally block it out. It had only been a few days, but the songs were already fraying my worn out nerves. Seriously, it was only _November!_ No~vem~ber! Why did the music need to start so early‽

I wanted to find these singers and throw them into bottomless pits.

Bottomless pits filled with scorpions.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Morning. How are you?_

I was really glad to see Claire. It was a slow morning, we hadn’t had any customers yet. My coworker, Harriet, was a nice enough person, but we had almost nothing in common and nothing to talk about, so days like these tend to drag on while Claire is sleeping. God I hate time zones.

**_Claire:_ ** _Feeling groggy. I didn’t sleep well last night. Kept waking up to check my AO3 inbox, but still no reply from ReverieBlossom_

So ReverieBlossom was an AO3 user? That was surprising. I wondered for a second if he’d ever written any Bloodstained Nightingale fanfiction, but I assumed it was the first thing Claire would check. Then again, you know what they say about assuming.

I checked Claire’s AO3 account, preparing to go through each of her fics to find this mysterious user. I wasn’t prepared to see a new one staring me in the face. Normally she sent me a link whenever she posted something new, since I didn’t have an account and wasn’t subscribed to her.

**_I had a Horrifyingly Bizarre Dream the Other Day_ ** _by **Apple Magus**_

_Original Work_

_ Creator Chose not to use Archive Warnings, CW Horror, CW Illness, CW Emetephobia, CW Unreality, CW Fourth Wall based Horror _

_A young woman gets incredibly sick and has an intense fever dream. She meets a demon king of nightmares who makes her an offer she can’t refuse._

_Language: English Words: 5678 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 21 Kudos: 73 Hits: 612_

I sent her a text.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hey, why didn’t you tell me you posted your new story?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Oh, I didn’t? I could have sworn I did. Phone must have eaten my message._

_You don’t have to read it._

_It’s very weird._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Work seems pretty slow, I’ll check it out in a second._

I went through all her comments, easily finding _ReverieBlossom_. Apparently the desert in Claire’s story reminded them of Bloodstained Nightingale. I laughed for a moment, thinking about how strange it must be that deserts kept popping up in all sorts of stories lately.

There was the desert in Claire’s Nightingales story, the desert in her new work, and apparently a desert in Bloodstained Nightingale as well. I clicked on the user’s name and held my breath as their page loaded. They had 0 works, only a few bookmarks.

On a whim I browsed those, wondering if they’d found a Bloodstained Nightingale fanfiction that I somehow missed, but there weren’t any on this list. Some Onyx Rose, Wednesday Angel, and a few other series I recognized, but no Bloodstained Nightingale.

I opened Claire’s story on my phone, immediately recognizing the details of her recurring nightmare. She’d told me once that she grew up terrified of losing her family. She blamed _The Land Before Time_ and _An American Tail_ for depicting young protagonists separated from their families, suffering extreme emotional distress as they tried to reunite with their loved ones. Apparently the movies left her scarred and traumatized, and she had several nightmares about being taken away from her mom.

Apparently she was pouring a lot of herself into this story.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Wow, I’m reading your story and this sounds terrible._

_Not the writing I mean. But your sickness._

_Did it really get that bad?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Yeah, basically. My head was in such a weird fog that I had trouble distinguishing nightmare from reality for a bit._

_For a second, I really thought that a nightmare demon was out to get me._

_How ridiculous would that be though? An evil king forcing innocent people to write creepypastas?_

_Talk about underwhelming._

The more I read, the tenser I felt. I kept reminding myself that this was just a really bad nightmare, a fever dream Claire had when she had a 102° fever, but everything was starting to feel like a calculated puzzle meant to terrify us.

_“Our target this time was a scorpion demon, attacking everyone with its metallic pincers and venomous stinger.”_

Another scorpion? At least it Claire had a powerful ally to protect her. If I ever get stuck in a battle against a demon army, I want one of my teammates to have a rocket launcher.

_“One blast and that scorpion exploded in a blaze of glory.”_

I continued the story until I finished, I tried to steel my nerves, but my body wouldn’t stop shaking. I felt like I’d been dipped into a bucket of ice water. It was an enjoyable story for sure, I didn’t want Claire to think otherwise, but something about it left me feeling sick, like I’d eaten bad food.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Seems like scorpions are kind of a theme of the month?_

**_Claire:_ ** _What do you mean?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _Well, first you write this story where they fight a scorpion in the desert. Then you find your old story where there’s a fight with a scorpion in the desert. Not to mention the scorpion in the library that my coworker and I found._

**_Claire:_ ** _Weird. I don’t remember writing a scorpion fight. Given my arachnophobia I think I would. Scorpions terrify me so I usually write them in when I need something evil._

_Like, on my list of fears they’re right under Rottweilers._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Huh? Did I get that wrong?_

I quickly went back to the story to check.

_“Our target this time was a bird demon…_ _One blast and she shot that turkey out of the sky_.”

_‘How the Hell did I miss that line about a turkey?’_ I shook my head. It fit Claire's typical sense of humor, an exaggerated description that stuck out like a sore thumb. The line was pretty out there, nearly impossible to miss, even if you were skimming with divided attention. No, I couldn’t have missed it. I remembered the bits surrounding it, I’d just somehow misread “bird” as “scorpion.”

Something wasn’t right here. My memory can be a bit questionable sometimes, but there’s no way in Hell I could have forgotten what I read less than 5 minutes ago!

_‘What the hell do you even say at a time like this?’_

**_Jacob:_ ** _Sorry, had scorpions on my brain and the loud music was distracting. Maybe I should reread this when I get home and I have more peace and quiet._

**_Claire:_ ** _Nah, you don’t need to do that._

**_Jacob:_ ** _So what’s up on your end?_

This whole scenario was weird and I was desperate to change the subject.

**_Claire:_ ** _I’ve been going through some of my old tablets. I found a few stories I wrote as well as other things. I have one that’s written like a series of episode summaries for a TV series, with like 10 whole seasons of some magical girl show._

_I also have one that’s written like a strategy guide for an RPG I made in my head. It’s got characters along with their stats and all the attacks and spells they can learn._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Really? That sounds fun._

**_Claire:_ ** _Yeah, I always did like to fantasize about what I would create if I could make my own TV show or video game. Writing stories is fun, but there’s so much I wish I could do. It’s so hard though. I tried using some software that’s supposed to let you make your own RPG, but it was too complicated for me to figure out._

_Although younger me apparently had major dreams of grandeur but no sense of scale or time. Some of these dungeons take over 100 Steps to complete and every boss has like 3 or more forms._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hopefully you can figure it out someday. I’m sure you’d make an amazing game. Just don’t make every dungeon and boss take five hours to complete._

**_Claire:_ ** _Thanks. I’ll definitely tone it down if I ever get there. But at this rate I’ll be grateful for the chance to make anything. I can’t even get a story off the ground right now, other than the desert nightmare._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Well I’m sure you’ll get things off the ground in no time. All your ideas sound so exciting. Like that Card Force fanfic you told me about, where the character’s main cards come to life and rebel against them! Or that Onyx Rose fanfic you were planning where Kousuke and Carlos fight against the Underworld Army. And you know I’m super looking forward to whenever you get around to writing your Catscratch Haven story. All the bits and pieces you’ve told me about sound really fun and I really like Margaret, can’t wait for what you do with her._

**_Claire:_ ** _Thx._

The metal doors creaked loudly, catching my attention as it broke me out of my near trance like state. It was so loud that it was impossible to ignore, even with all this music playing. It still got on my nerves in ways I couldn’t explain, perhaps even more so than the Christmas music.

Two young girls walked into the store. They looked like high schoolers, probably fresh out of class and eager to do something relaxing. I do not miss my school years, let me tell you that much.

One of the girls was excitedly chatting away to the other, telling her friend about some piece of media she’d read/watched/played, though I couldn’t tell you much from context. “It was really good, I just wish I could find it again. I hope they make a sequel someday, but it’s already been years so who knows.”

“Does it end on a cliffhanger or something?”

“Yeah, the monster brutally murders the dancer. We’re talking full on decapitation here. It’s heavily implied that the princess was jealous of her and _let_ it happen. She and the knight defeat the ghost, but they get into a huge argument afterwards. Then they get called off to fight the next monster, but the book ends there.”

It sounded like a terrible story to me. Who would honestly let another person be murdered just because they were jealous. Not a protagonist I cared about, that’s for sure. _‘But why does that sound familiar? A princess, a dancer, and a knight?’_

“Wow, that must be really annoying. When was the first book released?”

“I can’t remember. It’s so fuzzy in my head that I can barely recall the details. I don’t even remember the character’s _names_.” The girl shook her head as she and her friend went straight for the manga section, perusing the shelves for something to read.

I could see my coworker through my peripheral vision. She was rolling her eyes like she’d just heard the world’s worst joke. “Part of me wants to go over there and shove some decent literature right into her hands. That book sounds terrible.”

“Any idea what it is?” I asked.

Harriet shook her head. “No clue. And I’m glad I don’t. Anything that bad doesn’t deserve space in my brain.” She had short black hair dyed in multiple rainbow colors and wore heavy eyeshadow that, in all honesty, reminded me of a raccoon. It wasn’t bad or anything, I thought it looked kind of neat, but she had these dark shadows around her eyes all the time. “How misogynistic do you have to be to write a woman killing another woman because of jealousy?” Not that I disagreed with her or anything, but she seemed really annoyed with this. “A hundred bucks says that whoever wrote that is a man.”

“You’re probably right,” I said nonchalantly. I grabbed my phone, deciding to reply to Claire before too much time passed and I forgot.

**_Jacob:_ ** _So, speaking of writing, are you planning to do a second creepypasta to go with your Oneirophobia story? It kind of feels like you were leading up to it._

**_Claire:_ ** _IDK. I don’t really know what I’d write about._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Maybe you could do something Lost Media inspired? Your first story already hints at something odd happening at the library, maybe you could go from there. Write about a fictionalized version of Bloodstained Nightingale. Or the books I told you about._

**_Claire:_ ** _I dunno. Writing about my dream already felt super weird. I’m not sure I can handle basing anything else on real life._

I was about to text her again when someone placed a few books in front of me. “Hello,” said a young voice. It was somewhat familiar to me, yet I was not expecting to see the young boy from the library when I looked up. “I’d like to purchase these please.” He had the same black baseball cap placed over his messy black hair, but this time he wore a red polo and some khakis. He handed me his membership card as well. I quickly examined it, reading his name off the face of the card.

_‘His name is Brandon?’_ Chalk it up to another strange coincidence.

“Sure, no prob,” I said as I scanned the two books he bought. “That’ll be $27.28,” I said.

He handed over two twenties and I returned the change. “Long time no see. We’re still looking for that Bloodstained Nightingale book, but it’s really tough to find. Anything else you can tell us about it? How did you first hear about it?”

“A friend of mine said she hated it,” said the kid.

“She hated it? And you want to read it anyway?”

“I don’t want to read it, but it needs to be read. There are people who need to see it.” He held his books tight to his chest and stared at me with an unwavering gaze. For a little kid, he was almost intimidating. I couldn’t understand a word that he meant, and something told me he wasn’t going to explain.

I decided to ask anyway. “Why does it need to be read?”

“Because otherwise the world might end.”

His words were dead serious and they sent a chill through my spine. My grip weakened and I dropped my phone to the floor with a clatter. I bit back a swear word that would be too inappropriate for use around someone so young, and bent over to pick it up.

When I looked up he was gone.

I turned to Harriet, but she was busy helping the two customers from before. They were trying to buy a stack of manga, but their debit card was giving them some problems. The machine beeped and sputtered as it gave back error after error, but they got it eventually. The machines spat out a long receipt as they thanked Harriet for their help.

I looked around the store, but couldn’t find the boy from before. “You didn’t happen to see the kid I was helping just now, did you?” I asked.

Harriet shook her head. “Sorry, I was busy helping those two. Something the matter?”

“Not really,” I slumped my shoulders. “That was the kid I mentioned before, the one looking for Bloodstained Nightingale. He just appeared and vanished so quickly it freaked me out a little.” He was definitely gone. The only ones here were Harriet, the two girls, and me. And that quickly dropped to just two as the young women left, walking out that creaking door.


	9. Valerie Stanton in Catscratch Haven

**Chapter 8**

**Valerie Stanton in Catscratch Haven**

“Don’t you hate it when you want to rewatch an old show, but it’s not anywhere online? I can’t find the episodes on Amazon, Hulu, or YouTube, and they’re not on any of my favorite cartoon piracy sites, either. It’s like _Catscratch Haven_ never existed!”

“Have you tried DuckDuckGo? I hear their algorithms are a lot better than Google when it comes to finding illegally pirated content.” My best friend looked at me hopefully.

“Tried it, no luck” I let out a sigh as I sipped my strawberry milkshake, a small comfort, and broke off a piece of a French fry to toss to a pigeon hopping around the parking lot. It eagerly pecked at the treat, swooping it up in its beak as it flew away.

We were at one of those outdoor fast food places. The kind where you order overpriced and often greasy food through a window and sit down at a table outside. My best friend and I were celebrating my recent promotion at work, and sure we could have gone some place fancier. It would have made sense to go somewhere where the burgers are actually filling and aren’t 50% grease, and the tables don’t feel sticky like they’re covered in grim, but this place had the best milkshakes for miles and I had a serious craving.

One of the employees, a short girl wearing an orange tank top, stepped outside for her break. She waved at my friend, giving him a big flirtatious smile, and he merely sank into the back of his seat, blushing furiously as he looked down at his food. He dipped his fry into the special house sauce, dripping some on his chin as he ate. Watching this, the girl let out a defeated sigh, realizing he wasn’t interested.

He reached for a napkin, freezing once he saw the phone number written on it. I thought his face had reached maximum redness before, but now he looked like he had a horrendous sunburn. I stifled a laugh. “Poor girl’s got it bad for you.”

I couldn’t blame her, my friend was cute. Not my type, but cute. He had a nice face (if a little on the generic white guy side) well combed black hair, and a well-toned body from years of playing soccer. He was on his high school and college soccer teams, and now that he’d graduated he still took the time to play with friends. He even wore a cute polo shirt that helped show off his lean muscle. This wasn’t the first girl I’d seen take notice in him.

Unfortunately for them, he’s very gay. It’s how we met actually, we were both in our high school GSA and we became best friends. He was a bit depressed because he’d just moved here from Hawaii, but we hit it off well. Total WLM/MLM solidarity there. Sure, we were sometimes mistaken for a couple when we went out together, but we quickly cleared up the misconception whenever we could. We were gay, both of us. Right now he even has a boyfriend named Sam, who loves him to the ends of the Earth and will never let him go.

Now, I’m not bad looking myself. I’ve got gorgeous brown skin and a cool looking afro that I work very hard to take care of, so I also get a lot of attention from would be romantic pursuers. He joked about it when it happened to me, so it was only fair I got to tease him back.

“Maybe I should start wearing a rainbow polo with the words _‘I’m Gay!’_ written on the front. Maybe that will make things easier.” He took a bite of his burger and helped it down with a helping of soda, slurping it up noisily through his straw. His face was full of shock and embarrassment, it was almost like this had never happened to him before.

He slurped up more of his soda and said, “I’ve never heard of Catscratch Haven before. What’s it like?” Ah yes, changing the subject before I get to tease him too much.

“Well let’s see. This was close to twenty years ago, so I was about five at the time. I really don’t remember much,” I broke a fry into pieces to feed the birds all around us. “It ran for just over a season, getting cancelled about four episodes into season 2. I’m not sure if it was an issue with ratings, or if the moral guardians were fed up with it. It was honestly kind of messed up. Truth be told I want to rewatch this less for nostalgia factor and more to see if it was as bad as I remember.”

“What was wrong? Too much gross out humor? Or was it one of those dark and disturbing kids shows with lots of destruction and terrifying monsters that gave children nightmares?” He leaned in, a note of macabre curiosity on his voice.

“Well, mostly it just dealt with a lot of heavy stuff you wouldn’t expect from a kid’s show. The main character, Clarissa, was implied to have a self-harm problem. She always wore long sleeves, even to the beach. There were times when other characters complained about how hot it was, but she would still keep her arms covered. In one episode, another character tries to get her to wear a normal T-shirt, but she freaks out and refuses. In another one, her sleeve gets torn in a fight, and she desperately tries to keep her arm hidden from everyone else.”

“That sounds disturbing. You actually liked this show?”

“Well I was young and didn’t quite understand the implications until I was older. And truth be told, I don’t really think I actually liked it all that much. You know how it used to be, back before streaming was a thing. You’d just watch whatever was on, either because you were bored or because you were sitting through six terrible shows to make absolutely certain you were in front of the TV when the good cartoon went on the air. Catscratch just happened to be on while I was waiting for other stuff.”

“So what was it about exactly?” His voice was more dubious now, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anymore.

“It’s basically a western isekai, back before anyone in America really knew the term and there was no oversaturation of the market. But it had some really weird pacing issues. Clarissa doesn’t actually make it to the magical world until episode 2. The first episode is spent on a beach. It’s really melodramatic. It was called something like _Forsaken Girl._ I’m pretty sure at the time I didn’t know what ‘forsaken’ meant. Her family is having a barbecue, but she’s isn’t feeling well. She had a friend from school named Bradyn and she has a massive crush on him, but he recently got a girlfriend. Clarissa feels jealous and left out, thinking that Bradyn no longer wants anything to do with her.

“Clarissa’s dad tries to get her to participate in several family bonding activities, like playing beach volleyball, whacking a piñata, and helping with the barbecue. Clarissa reluctantly participates, but she’s practically a zombie the entire time. She’s stuck in her own little world and you get very brief glimpses of the boy she likes. Little snippets with no context.

“Eventually her father gets upset with her and starts yelling at her for ruining the barbecue. She goes quiet and waits for a distraction. Her mom and dad get into an argument and she sneaks out into the ocean to go for a quick swim. But a storm rolls in and the sea turns violent. Tall waves crash into her and she struggles to stay afloat. She desperately swims for the shore, but the first episode ends with her apparently drowning.”

“That’s disturbing. If I saw that as a child, I don’t think I’d turn in for episode 2.” He shook his head, putting his burger down. Apparently the disturbing story had robbed him of his appetite. “Were all the episodes that bad?”

“Not all of them. Some of them were actually quite normal. _Enter Catscratch Haven_ , Episode 2 opens with a bunch of sea turtles rescuing her and taking her to a place called Catscratch Haven. The rest of the episode is standard fantasy stuff. She meets a knight in training named Bradford and he helps her adjust to life in Catscratch Haven. He leads her to an inn for refugees with nowhere else to stay, and explains that the land is caught up in a civil war. The rightful heir to the throne, Princess Thea, has been kidnapped by her evil uncle Lord Seth and locked away in a tower. Thea’s knights lead a resistance against Seth and his forces.

“Bradford is a member of the rebellion, and he ends up fighting an evil knight in order to protect the inn. Clarissa discovers that she has magical powers that allow her to help in battle, and together they defeat the evil knight.”

“Sounds like some standard fantasy stuff from there. Did they ever rescue the princess? Or was she forever a victim of the series’ untimely cancellation?” His appetite restored, he quickly finished the burger in a few more bites.

“They rescued her around in season 1, it was the second half of a two parter. But don’t rush me, I’m getting there. Episode 3, _Academy of Rebellion,_ is another fairly normal episode. It was all about the Hero Academy. Bradford was a student there and he took Clarissa to enroll. She learned about combat techniques as well as how to better channel her magic. This episode introduced some new allies, Jake and Becky, two other students at the academy. Jake lost both his parents to Lord Seth and wanted to help overthrow him. He had a bit of a temper and occasionally could be a little bloodthirsty when fighting their enemies.

“Becky, on the other hand, is fighting for honor. Her older sister Chloe is one of Lord Seth’s top generals. A dangerous woman with a thirst for battle. It was never outright stated, but it was implied that Chloe had the highest kill count of all Seth’s army.

“The episode also introduced Margaret, one of Clarissa’s teachers. She would be a mentor to the young girl, not only in her academics, but also in life. Episode 4 was _almost_ a standard ‘fight the bad guys episode.’ It was called _Ready or Not,_ and focused on the team’s insecurities over risking their lives. Everything would have been normal except the characters talked about death a lot. We don’t see any on screen murders, but they talk about people who have died, and they all mention that they’re terrified of being killed in battle. Bradford even mentions the first time he killed one of Seth’s soldiers. He’s clearly traumatized, shaking as he relives the event.

“We also get to see what each of them imagines the afterlife to be like. It was honestly a rather depressing episode.

Episode 5, _Trial by Heartbreak_ , was all about a school dance. Clarissa tried to get Bradford to notice her, and went to Margaret for advice. Her teacher eventually tells her to ask him directly, which she does. But Bradford turns her down, so Clarissa skips the dance. The episode ends with her crying in bed as the others have a great time partying.

“Episodes 6 and 7 were about the team storming the Tower to rescue Princess Thea. They run into Chloe, and the ensuing fight nearly killed Bradford, but they were able to escape with the princess and their lives. I still remember Bradford’s screams of pain and the look of agony on his face. It was incredibly realistic for a cartoon.”

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting them to save her so soon. I thought it would probably be season finale material, or a mid-season break at the earliest. They saved her by episode 7?” He was hooked, hanging on to my every word. I couldn’t blame him, this was the good part. This actually had me captivated as a child, before the next few episodes sent everything crashing to Hell.

“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “They save the princess by episode 7. That’s where things get super weird. Episode 8 takes place mostly in the infirmary, where Bradford is recovering. The healing mages are unable to heal his wounds as quickly as usually, because Chloe struck him with a cursed sword. During this time, Bradford and Princess Thea bond. The episode ends with Clarissa seeing them kiss.”

“And does she get upset again, like in the first episode?”

“You have no idea. Episode 9 is a clip show. And it’s entirely in monochrome with very little sound. You think most clip shows are bad? This one was depressing. It focused on Clarissa being depressed the entire time as she thought about all the time she spent with Bradford. And it kept replaying the kiss throughout the episode, over and over again. It was kind of implied that Clarissa hurt herself every time she remembered the kiss. They never showed it on screen, but she seemed to be holding her arms in pain whenever a flashback of the kiss ended.

“The episode was called _Ideation_ and I think it was supposed to be a reference to suicidal ideation. So add another one to the list of messed up things that do not belong in a children’s cartoon.”

“You’ve got a really good memory for this, if you can remember not only what happened, but the episodes they happened in and the episode titles. Kind of surprising for someone who can’t remember what she had for breakfast two days ago.”

“Hey, ordinary stuff just gets lost in the blur,” I protested. “And it was eggs benedict. I think.” I smirked a little. “And there’s a reason the episode titles are so easy to remember. There’s a super easy mnemonic. Let me show you.” I began composing a long text as he waited patiently, holding his breath until I hit send.

1x01 Forsaken Girl  
1x02 Enter Catscratch Haven  
1x03 Academy of Rebellion  
1x04 Ready or Not  
1x05 Trial by Heartbreak  
1x06 High Tower Assault  
1x07 Entirely Outclassed  
1x08 Nevermore  
1x09 Ideation  
1x10 Grave Intention  
1x11 Hopeless Despair  
1x12 The One Forgotten  
1x13 Mirage of Hope  
1x14 Always Last  
1x15 Running Away  
1x16 Ever After  
1x17 Dreams of Nobody  
1x18 Eternal Regret  
1x19 Sinner’s Suffering  
1x20 Element of Surprise  
1x21 Remnant of a Broken Heart  
1x22 The Final Showdown

“See it?” I asked, watching him scrutinize the list.

“No, I don’t think so. Wow, these are some grim titles. _Hopeless Despair, Eternal Regret, Sinner’s Suffering?”_ His eyes widened. “Hold on a second,” he said as realization dawned on his face. He scrolled back up to the top of the list. “F E A R,” he read out loud. “The first letter of every season 1 episode spells out ‘Fear the Nightmare Desert.’ What the Hell does that mean?”

I shook my head. “Nobody’s quite sure. There is a desert in the season finale, but as far as the narrative went, it was a pretty normal desert. The trend seemed to continue in season 2. The four episodes that aired spelled out ‘ruin’ but the show was cancelled before we could see what was meant to be next.”

“So, what happens after the clip show?”

“Episode 10 focused on the rest of the cast going about their daily lives, interspersed with scenes of Clarissa in her bedroom, wallowing. She was almost perfectly still, like a statue, but you could tell that time was passing because there’d be other things moving in the scene, like curtains billowing in the breeze. And these scenes dragged on for about twenty seconds each, it really killed the pacing. But worse than that, they were so unnerving. There was no music and the sound was minimalistic, you could only hear things like the wind or the footsteps of other guests at the inn.

“In Episode 11 Margaret is able to visit Clarissa and offer some guidance. The entire episode is just the two of them talking about Clarissa’s feelings in an impromptu therapy session in Clarissa’s bedroom. We don’t have a B Plot and we don’t even have any flashbacks or imagination spots, just twenty minutes of a girl on her bed talking about her problems. Honestly I don’t know how I managed to stay focused during that episode. I must have really wanted to watch whatever was next, if I didn’t turn the channel.”

“You are a more patient person than I am.”

I finished off my milkshake, but tried my hardest to suck up every last remaining bit. We were only about halfway through season 1 and just talking about this show was draining all my energy. Did I really want to watch this show again? Over nine hours of characters wallowing in their depression? No wonder nobody put this show up online. I doubt anyone even bothered to ever record this.

“Honestly, I’m surprised this show even lasted as long as it did,” said my friend. “It sounds like a mess. And not even a fun mess like Riverdale.”

“The next few episodes focus on the heroes fighting back against Seth’s army. They travel from enemy camp to enemy camp, fighting to free the people from tyranny. Princess Thea travels with them, using her magic to help fight. They do well, but tensions keep growing. Clarissa is jealous of Thea’s growing relationship with Bradford and she can’t stand that the princess has stronger magic than her. She’s constantly snapping at her teammates and they can’t figure out why.

“Then in episode 14 they run into Chloe again. They’re trying to rescue a bunch of political prisoners who are about to be executed for supporting Thea. Things are going well until Chloe shows up, stronger than ever. She dominates the fight as the kids try everything they can to fight back. In the end they have to retreat, and it’s implied that the prisoners were all killed.

“Episode 15 shows most of the teammates frustrated as they try to train and improve their skills. Margaret trains Thea’s magic, helping her to learn new spells. Becky and Jake train with other teachers to help improve their combat skills. Bradford seeks out more real world experience as he takes on solo missions, fighting against some of Seth’s most dangerous demons. But nobody seems to care that Clarissa isn’t around. At this point she’s so frustrated with everything going on that she runs back to the beach, praying that she can return to the normal world. She nearly drowns at sea again, but the episode ends with her returning home.”

“Normally I’d bet that she doesn’t stay there very long, but with this show it’s hard to tell.”

“She spends almost the rest of the season in the normal world. In fact, the next three episodes are focused entirely on her. No magic whatsoever. No Catscratch Haven. Just Clarissa wallowing in despair. Her parents are thrilled to have her back, they thought she drowned at sea. Things got so bad at home that her mom and dad split. She ends up staying with her mother, who tries to get her to open up about where she’s been. When Clarissa remains silent on the issue, her mother drags her off to therapy.

“In _Dreams of Nobody_ , she returns to school and has a run in with her old crush. He and his girlfriend are still together, but he wants to maintain his friendship with Clarissa. She grows cold and distant and does her best to avoid him. We see scenes of her at therapy, where she opens up a little about her school life, but she obviously can’t tell her therapist about Catscratch Haven.

“In the episode _Eternal Regret_ she and Bradyn finally get into an argument and she tells him she never wants to be his friend again. When she gets home from school that day she goes through her old photo albums and starts tearing up all her pictures of him. We get a few flashback scenes to their childhood and Clarissa starts to cry. Her emotional state gets worse throughout the episode, even taking a physical toll on her body. By the end of the episode she’s in the bathroom, retching into the toilet.

“I remember she looked so distraught. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were puffy. Her sleeves seemed disheveled as she leaned over the toilet bowl.” The image flashing in my mind was clear as day. My friend was right. My memory of this show _is_ unusually clear. I watched this show about twenty years ago, the details definitely should have been fuzzier.

_‘It’s probably just left a huge impression on you because of how vivid the whole thing is.’_

“So is that when she decided to return to Catscratch Haven?” My friend finished the last of his food and now eagerly awaited the conclusion to this tale. “I hope she was able to make up with everyone.”

“No, it still took a few more episodes. Thankfully we did get to see events unfolding back in Catscratch Haven.” Gathering our trash to throw in the bin, I pulled out my debit card to order us more food. I got a second milkshake while he got two extra orders of fries. We stood near the window, waiting for our orders as we continued the conversation. “Sinner’s Suffering returned focus to the magical world. Having lost another battle with Chloe, Bradford decided to undergo a forbidden ritual to make him stronger. He makes a pact with a strange devil like entity, giving him the power of darkness.

“It improves his skills tenfold. He’s stronger, faster, more resilient, and he’s able to fight off a dozen soldiers on his own. But it also puts him through a lot of pain. Every time he hurts an enemy, he feels the same pain they do. If he stabs someone, he feels like he’s been stabbed. If he slashes at them, he can feel the blade biting into his own flesh. Thea begs him to stop using the curse, but he refuses, saying that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to save the kingdom.

“ _Element of Surprise_ splits the focus again, with Clarissa taking the B Plot while the episode primarily focuses on the group’s continued war efforts. Bradford’s curse gets worse until he is constantly crying out in pain. Meanwhile Clarissa is in the hospital, her parents are fighting and the doctors are watching over her carefully. It’s never outright stated but the implications were that she hurt herself, though I can only speculate on her exact intent. The episode ends with a rematch between Chloe and Bradford, the two use all their biggest tricks as they engage in an epic battle of sword play. Bradford knocks way Chloe’s sword and stabs her in the chest. We see a silhouette of the scene as he lets out an inaudible scream of pain, the backlash of his cruse overwhelming him. Chloe’s shadow gains the upper hand, pinning the young knight to the ground, and the episode ends with him captured.”

My friend did a quick check on his phone. “That still leaves two episodes left in the season, what could possibly follow up a shocker like that? I imagine a rescue mission, but I imagine that wouldn’t be enough based on what I’ve heard so far.”

A worker called out orders, handing over some fries and a milkshake. I immediately took a sip as my friend broke some fries apart to feed the birds. “ _Remnants of a Broken Heart_ switches focus between Clarissa and the rest of the team. Sensing something is amiss, Clarissa desperately tries to get back to the beach so she can return to Catscratch Haven. Meanwhile, Thea, Becky, and Jake begin intense training as they make preparations to save Bradford. As the episode comes to a close, Clarissa _finally_ returns to Catscratch Haven. She vows to help them rescue Bradford.”

“So how does the season end? Do they save him? Does it end in the middle of a fight? I imagine there was a huge depressing cliffhanger of some sort,” my friend guessed. He was right of course.

“Bradford is taken to a desert prison, with maximum security. There are countless soldiers and monsters patrolling the halls. The group launches their rescue plan in the dead of night, hoping that all the strongest guards will be asleep. Unfortunately, they discover Chloe waiting for them, eager for a rematch. Clarissa and Thea work in tandem, unleashing an onslaught of spell after spell, never resting. They perform attacks in concert, creating a tapestry of magic with no opening. Chloe, despite her injuries, is able to slice through all their attacks with a single stroke of her sword.

“Chloe reveals that Seth has a spy at the academy, so she knew exactly when the group would arrive. Margaret reveals herself and begins attacking the students. The group manages to free Bradford from his cell and he joins in on the battle. He teams up with Thea to fight Chloe, while Clarissa, Becky, and Jake face Margaret. They’re able to hold off their teacher easily enough, until she transforms into a monstrous scorpion demon. She knocks Jake to the ground and immediately stings Becky, dropping her to the ground in pain.

“Bradford desperately pushes the curse to its limits, knowing that he’ll need everything he has to hold off Chloe. But the more he fights, the greater his pain. Clarissa takes desperate measures of her own, overclocking her magic as she casts spells more powerful than any she’s used before. She manages to push Margaret into another room, where a long bridge runs over a pit of bloodstained spikes. The two battle, using all their best spells. Magic clashes and explodes and tears the prison to pieces. But eventually Clarissa falters and missteps, leaving herself wide open for a blast of magic from Margaret.

“The scene turns to another silhouette as Clarissa plummets to the spikes below, the episode ending with her shadow impaled.”

“You can’t be serious!” My friend protested. “There’s no way a kid’s show could be that gruesome. You’ve been pulling my leg the entire time, haven’t you?”

“You really think I could come up with something like this on my own?” I asked.

He shook his head and let out a sigh. “No, I guess not. Still, that’s a cruel trick to play on children. Making it look like the main character died and then forcing them to wait the entire hiatus for a resolution. How did she survive?”

“She didn’t,” I told him plainly. “Clarissa dies at the end of the first season. She’s still around in season 2, but as a ghost. There were hints that she could bring herself back to life, but the series got cancelled before it could get that far. Season 2 opens back at the academy, detailing their escape through flashbacks. The characters all feel numb, their voices are lifeless as they recount the events of their retreat. It’s a rather dull episode, even though they fought for their lives to get away, everyone’s just too exhausted and their morale is gone. They don’t even sound sad that Clarissa is dead, just empty and numb. Even the theme song is lifeless, it’s been replaced with someone humming a sorrowful version of the melody. It’s the same as season 1’s intro, but in monochrome and with Clarissa removed entirely.

Clarissa’s ghost doesn’t make an appearance at the end of the episode, but none of her friends can see her. She’s left all alone, terrified and forgotten.

“2x02 is a bit better. The theme song is back to normal, but with entirely new animation. The characters all hold a funeral for Clarissa, and though it’s still sad, they at least sound alive. Clarissa attends her own funeral and tries to communicate with them, but to no avail. She meets the shadow demon from season 1 and he explains that she can come back to life, though he won’t tell her how. He also warns her that if she succumbs to sorrow, she’ll disappear forever.

“In 2x03 is a return to the battle against Seth’s army. Clarissa tags along and tries to help out in her ghostly form, but she can’t seem to interact with the living world at all. Other than the protagonist being dead, it was a fairly standard episode.

“2x04 _Null and Void,_ took a step back from the fighting to focus more on character interactions. Princess Thea and Bradford make their relationship public knowledge, and Thea announces that Bradford will be her future prince. Clarissa initially starts to fade away, but is able to pull herself together. But as the episode continues, more and more people congratulate the happy couple and it becomes harder for Clarissa to hold it in. When Thea and Bradford kiss on camera, Clarissa starts to fade again. She blinks in and out of existence for a few seconds, and then the episode ends with her fate unresolved.”

“There’s so much that never got explained. The demon was implied to have wicked plans of his own, Bradford’s curse was hinted to have greater ramifications, we never learned the reasons for Margaret’s betrayal. We were all left hanging.”

“And the writers haven’t come out years later to tell everyone what their plans were? Even if we don’t get an official continuation, it would be nice to hear what they had in store for the show. I haven’t even seen it but I feel like I need a resolution.”

“It would be nice, but I don’t think anybody even remembers who the writers were. Seems that information was lost to time,” I sighed. I drank more of my milkshake, the sweet taste of cold strawberry ice cream soothing my throat after all that talking.

My friend’s phone lit up. He let out a sigh as he quickly checked the screen. “My mom needs me for something. I hate to take off so soon, but I better get going. Want the rest of my fries?” He nudged his carton toward me.

“Sure,” I said, accepting his humble offering. “See you later Brandon!”

We waved goodbye to each other as he walked away. I just sat there, eating the rest of his fries, occasionally throwing a piece to the hungry pigeons.


	10. Claire Oswin: Scarred by Memories

**Chapter 9**

**Claire Oswin: Scarred by Memories**

**_Claire:_ ** _BRB. Food run._

It was another day, much like the one before. Thanks to my disability and other health issues, I didn’t get out much. I spent most of my days relaxing indoors, leaving only for the occasionally food or grocery run. I didn’t even like doing these convenience store trips on my own, but my mom was busy so I felt I could probably manage it.

Crossing the street with the Walk signal’s approval, I got careless and lost myself in thought. _‘I still haven’t figured out the second creepypasta. I wonder what I should write about?’_ I looked up and felt my heart leap. A car turned the corner, nearly driving right into me. The driver caught himself at the last second and hit the brakes, but I already found myself scowling internally as I hurried my pace, eager to get away from this asshole.

I felt my chest tighten. _‘Okay that was at a crosswalk. He was driving slowly, it’s not like he’d have done much damage even if he did hit me. Still, it’s the thought that matters. Drivers need to pay attention to pedestrians, but they’re all so selfish!’_ I took in a few quick breaths, struggling to get the air I needed. _‘I hope I don’t have an asthma attack here. I really should start taking my inhaler with me. This feels really bad.’_ I gasped for air as I felt something tighten around my lungs. _‘I hope I don’t get worse,’_ again I felt my chest tighten, like a cold iron hand had gripped me tight.

 _‘Calm down Claire,’_ I told myself. _‘You’re just starting to panic. The more, you worry about this, the worse you’ll get. Focus, breathe deep, and stay calm.’_ I inhaled deeply, letting the air fill my lungs. I felt my chest relax as I repeated the process and my breathing slowed. Everything returned to normal.

This was far from an unusual event. I have a little trouble breathing, I start to worry about my asthma, and things suddenly get worse. That’s not to say I don’t have normal asthma problems, they crop up now and again too, and they suck big time. They leave me coughing and sputtering until my chest hurts. But I also had anxiety issues to deal with.

I can be a bit of a mess sometimes, but I do my best to cope.

Thinking the worst to be over, I continued my walk around the hedge that divided the sidewalk from the parking lot, hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with too many people inside the store. Instead I saw a Rottweiler roaming just outside the convenience store. It wore a spiked collar but I couldn’t see an owner anywhere. Either it had broken loose or some asshole decided to let it wander around without tying it up.

Listen, I get that a lot of you love your dogs, but if you have a breed capable of tearing people’s flesh off, then I expect you to be responsible! Keep an eye on them and tie them up when you need to leave them outside. You might think they’re well trained, but sometimes they can surprise you. A lot of dogs end up attacking innocent people and ordinary folks shouldn’t have to play guessing games every time we go for a walk outside.

I waited until the dog was turned the other way and made a beeline for the door, power walking like that dog wanted a piece of my legs. _‘It’s going to be alright. Most dogs are good.’_ I told myself.

_‘But not all.’_

I dashed inside the store and took a deep breath. The dog continued roaming outside, minding its own business. Some might think I’m being overdramatic, but I call it being safe and cautious.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hope you have an easy trip._

**_Claire:_ ** _Had a bit of a scare with a dog running around, but it’s fine now. Hopefully it leaves me alone when I make my return trip._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Yikes! Did it get loose or did its owner just leave it outside?_

**_Claire:_ ** _No clue._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hope you’re doing okay._

**_Claire:_ ** _Just a bit emotional, but otherwise I’m fine. Just reliving a bit of childhood trauma._

I was about ten at the time, so I think this was fifteen years or so ago. My best friend and I were playing in the park, pretending to be superheroes. Our parents were nearby, chatting about adult stuff like the economy and politics, things that wouldn’t matter to my friend and I for over a decade more.

It was on one of those playground structures, the kind with stairs to climb, monkey bars to swing across, and all sorts of slides sticking out from various ends. It was all built in a box of sand meant to keep children safe should they fall. We ran up and down the stairs being careful not to trip. He would even jump down from the top of the equipment, doing cool punches in kicks in midair and landing safely below like some sort of stuntman. I admired his style and desperately wanted to imitate him, but I could never work up the courage. It was a short jump from the top to the bottom, but to my young self it this might as well have been the Empire State Building.

Our powers were vast and limitless. At that age we didn’t care about things like “balance,” “weaknesses,” or “character flaws.” We were the kinds of heroes who beat villains without breaking a sweat. Their attacks couldn’t harm us, we were strong like unyielding mountains. Try as they might they couldn’t stand up to our incredible powers. We were both unstoppable forces and immovable objects.

We were having fun that day, conducting grand battles against opponents existing only in our minds. I can’t quite remember what kind of monster our imaginations crafted that day, but I’m sure it was nasty and completely deserving of a beat down. It all should have gone well.

Except for a man walking his Rottweiler off the leash, allowing the dog to run ahead of him. He had no consideration for the people around him and took no precautionary measures to prevent a tragedy. All it would have taken to avoid this was some common decency.

At the time I had no fear of dogs, so this wasn’t a case of the animal sensing fear and striking. I was minding my own business, riding down the slide, when the dog snapped at me.

Luckily for me, my friend decided to take hero LARPing to the next level, placing himself in the dog’s path to protect me. The dog chomped into his leg as I screamed in fear. Our parents came running to help, and the dog’s owner realized something was wrong. The man came running up to us and called his dog off, apologizing profusely.

I hovelled in the corner near the stairs, crying my eyes out in fear. All I could see through my tears was the bloodstained sand. It probably wasn’t as bad as I remember, but it seemed like a river of red cutting through a desert.

My friend had to be rushed to the emergency room to get stitches. He was fine the next day, able to run around and fight evil. Soon enough he and his other friends were playing soccer, and his leg functioned just fine. He could run and kick like nothing bad ever happened.

The only sign anything had ever gone wrong at all was the scar on his left thigh.


	11. Claire Oswin and the First Curse

**Chapter 10**

**Claire Oswin and the First Curse**

I took my time in the convenience store, wandering the aisles. _’Do I want potato chips?’_ They sold many snacks, but they were all a bit expensive. _‘They’ve got candy, and Combos. Maybe I could get ice cream.’_

I was stalling for time, hoping that dog would go away. By the time I settled on getting two Spam musubis for myself, it had vanished, just as I prayed. I couldn’t tell you if it left on its own or its owner had finished their shopping, I spent the entire time trying not to look at it.

I had a safe and uneventful trip back home.

“Long line?” My mother asked. I handed over her food, some fried chicken and a soda, and nodded in agreement.

“There were a lot of people today,” I lied. It was less effort than explaining the truth to her.

Leaving my mother to eat at the kitchen table I took my meal to my room and sank back into my bed. It felt like singing into a warm hug. The sheets were still clean and cozy from when I changed them, and my bed was soft enough for me to relax but firm enough that it didn’t contort my spine into weird shapes like a badly gerrymandered voting district.

How strange, to think that a few days ago this bed was like a prison, Instead of cold walls my own health had confined me here, forcing me to sleep away most of the day as I suffered those intense fever dreams. _‘I hope I never get that sick again.’_

**_Claire:_ ** _Home. No further incidents._

**_Jacob:_ ** _That’s good news. Hope you got something good to eat._

I carefully removed the plastic wrap from my musubi, unwilling to commit to an answer before trying this. I’ve had their musubis before and usually they’re great, but every so often you’ll bite into some hardened rice. That just ruins the whole thing for me, I can never finish a musubi after that, even if the rest of the rice is fine. I end up throwing the whole thing out.

This one was fine though. The rice was soft and chewy, while the spam was tender, with just a hint of sauce to make it sweet. The nori wrap was a bit crunchier than I preferred, but that was hardly a deal breaker. I devoured my first musubi in five seconds and quickly ate the other, confirming that it was just as good.

**_Claire:_ ** _Yeah, it was great._

I opened the cap off my bottle of soda and washed down my food.

**_Claire:_ ** _What’s up on your end?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _Working on Card Force. Doing a lot of exposition this chapter, trying to reveal the villain’s backstory as well as explain the purpose of the tournament. I’ve got about 5 pages so far._

**_Claire:_ ** _5 pages sounds like a great start. Anything you can share about the villain? You really haven’t mentioned much about them so far._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Sorry, it’s spoilers so you have to wait._

**_Claire:_ ** _Oh okay._

_Good luck with it all. I want to try writing too, if I can get my brain flowing._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Any idea what you want to write? Still going for that creepypasta?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Maybe I can do a haunted video game cartridge? Video game creepypastas seem fun when done well. But I can’t really think of anything that original._

_Maybe someone tries to play different games online, but they’re pursued by a mysterious stalker?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _What does the stalker do?_

**_Claire:_ ** _I dunno._

_They corrupt the video game somehow? Like, MC always plays with this stranger but the stranger cheats and scary things happen?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _That could be fun._

**_Claire:_ ** _Ugh, maybe? I don’t know. It just seems like everything I come up with feels forced. I’m honestly not even sure I want to write the creepypasta. But every time I think of writing something else, I get this strange sensation in my body. Like all my muscles are going tense. And my brain starts focusing on the creepypasta._

**_Jacob:_ ** _That’s unfortunate. Maybe your mom can give you a massage to help relieve the tension?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Maybe._

_It would be nice to work on something else right now._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Work out anything for Catscratch Haven?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Kind of? The more I think about it, the less sure I feel that I actually want to write this out. Most of my ideas feel like they’d be better suited for a visual medium. Remember that one time I tried to write that Onyx Rose fanfic where they all had to fight in the Linden Village Tournament?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _Yeah, your fight scenes were really intense and detailed, but they were a bit hard to follow on paper. I tried mapping them out in my head and they kind of looked cool, but it didn’t translate well to a fanfiction._

**_Claire:_ ** _Exactly!_

_I think that’s the problem with what I want to do here. These fight scenes are all meant to be for a cartoon! Not a written story!_

_Like, every time I imagine Clarissa’s spells in my head they look so cool. They’re flashy and dazzling and she moves like a professional dancer, spinning and twirling as she casts them. But then I try to write it out and a simple attack takes too long._

_It kills the pace of the fight scene._

**_Jacob:_ ** _You could always cut down on the flashiness and just have her cast her spells._

**_Claire:_ ** _Yeah, but that’s no fun._

I finished my soda and headed for the kitchen, pressing the power button on my laptop when I got there. I didn’t see my mom anywhere, so I figured she went outside to smoke. I rolled my eyes in annoyance, but paid it no further mind as I waited for my laptop to boot up. It took a good minute of whirring and sputtering, and I had to close several popups about various mystery programs that wanted to run themselves, but I soon got into my writing folder and opened Catscratch Haven chapter 1.

For all my talk about the fight scenes not working out, I wasn’t having much luck with the drama either. I read over my intro out loud.

_“Clarissa hugged her knees as she sat on the beach, feeling the sand against her bare legs. The sun blazed overhead and her long sleeve shirt left her hot and sweaty. Still, she refused to change into anything else. As she watched the waves lapping the shore, she saw some sea turtles swimming not too far away. She gave a weak wave, pretending that they could understand her.”_

I liked the bit with the sea turtles, they were one of my ‘aumākua after all. With a bit of luck I’d find ways to include sharks and owls as well, but these felt like the best fit for now. I read over the rest of my chapter, your standard introduction stuff where you help familiarize the reader with the situation.

_““You can’t just wallow over some boy like this! It isn’t healthy, Clarissa. Do you know what it’s like for me seeing you like this all the time‽ It isn’t fun, and you’re ruining this day for the rest of us!””_

I stopped at this bit of dialogue. I’d never quite gotten it right, no matter how many times I tried. It just lacked that edge I wanted to portray. I wanted every word to drip with selfishness, to manufacture a putrid hatred that would fester in reader’s hearts, boiling their blood for years to come as they remembered this scene.

 _Too_ ambitious? Perhaps. But you’ll never accomplish anything if you don’t try. Unfortunately, the only thing it did was bring up old wounds, thinking of the time my own mother got mad at me for being upset over a boy. _“He’s moved on,”_ she told me. _“Stop being sad about it. Everyone is starting to get really uncomfortable around you.”_

Because my feelings didn’t matter, apparently. The memory stung but I tried to push past it, focusing instead on the story.

I’ll be honest. I’m fully aware that Clarissa isn’t that great of a feminist character. She gets hung up on boys a lot. Her heterosexual crushes leave her heartbroken and destroyed. Huge chunks of her plot revolve around men and her feelings for them. She’s not strong. She isn’t independent. And everything about her hinges on men.

Quite frankly, I don’t care. I can’t help how _I_ feel. And I like using fiction to _cope_. Seeing other characters suffer like me is cathartic. I am able to heal my wounds through _their_ misery. That’s why I enjoy writing stories about characters like Clarissa.

When I was little, I had a crush on my best friend Brandon. He was really cool. He was smart, helping me with my math homework whenever I got stuck, helping me study for spelling tests, and helping me with my social studies assignments. To this day I only know how to remember the difference between ‘desert’ and ‘dessert’ because of him.

He was a soccer star. He didn’t play on any team, at least, not until high school, but he would play in the park with other kids sometimes. Occasionally they’d do shirts vs skins and I’d blush whenever he was on the skins team, although I was way too young to understand why I suddenly felt like my brain was frying.

We had so much fun writing, even if we weren’t very good at it. The stories we came up together were some of the most fun I ever had making. I wonder if he’s still writing any stories of his own.

We lost touch when he moved to the mainland in high school. I went through a short time with no internet access and long distance phone calls were still a big concern then, so we had no reliable way of keeping in touch. Could I do it all over again, I’d suggest being pen pals. Snail mail would be preferable to losing him entirely.

When I started college I managed to find Brandon on Facebook. He accepted my friend request quickly, and I told him how thrilled I was to be in touch with him again. But he seemed to avoid me for some reason. He’d go weeks without returning my messages, then ignore me for another month.

I sent him messages more often, growing desperate for his attention.

In hindsight I can admit my behavior was a bit- desperate and- well, I shouldn’t have been that clingy. But he was the first person I ever loved, and that was hard for me to deal with. When I saw that he was in a relationship with someone named Sam, I felt my heart break in two.

One night I sent him a message saying that it hurt too much to wait around for him while he ignored me. In the morning, I awoke to one final message and the discovery that he’d unfriended me and asked me never to contact him again. I can’t blame him for getting upset with my erratic behavior, but I do resent that he ignored me the way he did.

Still, I’ll never forget him. And how could I, when he was one of the kindest people I ever met. (And he did save me from that dog.)

I have a lot of OCs like this. They fall in love with some guy only for everything to end in tragedy. And they break.

I understand the feminist need for strong women, but that’s not what I am. That isn’t what _I_ need. So I’ve created these characters for me. And they help _me_. I won’t pretend I’m completely over Brandon, that wound still stings. Every now and then I’ll dream of his forgiveness at night. But with every story I write, it’s like a relief of some built up pressure. Every story I create about a girl like me is a chance to feel a little better. (Maybe one day I’ll actually get to unleash them on paper instead of keeping them locked up in my head.)

And Catscratch Haven is the latest in a long line of ideas I’ve come up with. Clarissa is the latest OC I’ve made to cope with my own heartache.


	12. Claire Oswin in Message of the Rafflesia

**Chapter 11**

**Claire Oswin in Message of the Rafflesia**

_“Somebody help,” cried Clarissa. Her arms flailed wildly as she tried to swim to shore. The current tugged back on her, pulling her further away. “Mo~” she sank beneath the waves. It was only for a second, but the salt water rushed down her throat, making her cough and sputter. She turned to the dark sky above. Should she pray to God? No, anyone who would do this to her was a bastard. If there was a man sitting upon a throne of the cosmos, he was not to be trusted for help._

I paused. Too blasphemous? I wasn’t sure. With all that I’ve suffered through in life, it’s hard to trust in religion. The days I’ve starved, all the times I got sick, the time my best friend was attacked by a vicious animal. How could a loving God do that to me? But still, religion meant a lot to some people, it helped guide them through their suffering. I didn’t want to alienate them, so I cut out the last few lines before continuing.

_She turned to the dark sky above. ‘I just need to keep my head above water.’ But her arms and lungs burned with effort. A wave came and she tumbled through the sea, feet and head rolling through the water. She twisted her body as she swam upward, gasping for air as she broke through the surface. Her wet hair clung to her eyes, and she couldn’t tell which way the shore was. She tried to brush away her bangs for a clear view, but the waves took her under again._

_She tried to hold her breath, but the surprise of it all made her gasp out. She took in water and everything went black._

I smiled, having finally completed the first chapter of Catscratch Haven. It had only taken me six whole months! Hell, maybe I could even post this on my tumblr and call it my second creepypasta. Would that appease Oneirophobia? Or would he call that cheating?

 _‘Wait, he isn’t real. Why would an imaginary nightmare care?’_ I scolded myself for even thinking something so absurd. It’s like this stray thought wandered into my brain and nested there even if they are completely at odds with reality. I just hope I don’t embarrass myself by saying anything out loud.

I reclined on my couch, stretching my tired arms. I’d brought my laptop in from the kitchen, writing on a TV tray I’d bought specifically to help with my writing.

I sent a copy of my writing to Jacob and sent him a text to let him know.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Oh cool, give me a minute to check it out._

I always hated those minutes of waiting. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful to have a friend reading my work, and the last thing I want is to rush them, but there’s always a growing sense of dread. _‘What if they think it’s boring? What if they hate it? What if they say my entire premise is no good and I’ve wasted all my time trying to write something that will never amount to anything?’_

It felt like I had a Rottweiler staring me down, licking its lips as I helplessly waited.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Okay just started. Liking it so far. I feel really bad for Clarissa though. She needs a hug._

_Wow, her dad is an asshole. It feels almost cartoonish. I know some parents can really be terrible but this is almost hard to believe._

I didn’t say a thing about my own mother.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Okay, I’m starting to think she needs therapy. Not a magical isekai adventure, but actual legit therapy._

_You keep mentioning her sleeves a lot, am I missing something?_

I wrapped my left hand around my right wrist, feeling my own sleeve, and wondered if I should explain it. I couldn’t bring myself to comment, so I just sent a noncommittal reply.

**_Claire:_ ** _But magical fantasy adventures -are- the best therapy._

**_Jacob:_ ** _No. Therapy with a therapist is the best therapy._

_Okay you keep mentioning the turtles, they’re starting to scare me. Are they evil devil turtles. Are they going to eat her?_

**_Claire:_ ** _I would never dishonor my ‘aumākua that way._

**_Jacob:_ ** _I forgot turtles were your ‘aumākua._

**_Claire:_ ** _Sharks and owls too._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Okay, just got to the end, holy crap that’s a cliffhanger. I mean I know she ends up in another world so she’ll probably be okay. I don’t think you’re the type to pull a ‘dead all along’ twist, so I’m assuming she won’t die._

_It’s a good first chapter. Hopefully you’ll become famous one day and then you can have it made into a cartoon like you want. You going to post it online?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Yeah. On fictionpress and -maybe- AO3. I hear they accept some original fiction, but the rules are very confusing. Like, I read an explanation from a staff member once, and they may as well have been singing El Chombo’s Chacarron for all the sense I could make of it._

_I mean I already have an original work on there, so I might as well have another._

_Though I might wait a bit until I’m sure I can continue this. I have vague outlines but I don’t know what to do next actually._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Ninja attack?_

I quickly logged onto AO3.

Inbox (9)

With a smile I opened my inbox, finding 9 new comments on my creepypasta. It was a bittersweet feeling. Sure I was thrilled to have more comments, but I did hope that readers would soon take notice of my other work.

I scrolled though them, more comments about being unnerved or spooked, but nothing too unusual. Until I saw a response from ReverieBlossom.

**_Claire:_ ** _Oh hey, ReverieBlossom finally responded. I’ll let you know if they have any useful info._

I turned back to my laptop, reading the message on my screen.

**_ReverieBlossom:_ ** _Hey sorry I took so long to get back to you. I got hit really bad by some sort of illness. For a second I almost thought your demon lord had gotten to me. Thankfully I didn’t have any strange fever dreams or anything, but I did need to go to the emergency room because I was dehydrated. That was not a fun experience at all._

_As for Bloodstained Nightingale, I have to admit it has been years since I read it. I vividly remember a desert, filled with sand that seemed to stretch on for miles with nothing else around. I think there was a scorpion demon too, but I can’t remember exactly. I think its name was Scorpio or Scorpius? Something like that._

_Anyway, I don’t know how much info you want but, Spoilers I guess._

_._

_._

_._

_Anyway, it’s about two older teens, one boy and one girl. I forget their names but the girl was something like Clara or Claire. Maybe Clarissa? And the boy was Brad or something like it. They meet in a park and become best friends. They both discover that they have special abilities, and they work together to fight nightmare creatures from other worlds. These monsters aren’t really intelligent and they have no goals, they just attack indiscriminately._

_There’s a plotline about a missing princess, but it’s quickly revealed that it’s actually the girl. She says she had reasons for trying to hide her identity, but if she ever revealed them I’ve forgotten._

_The two friends begin travelling across the land, meeting and helping many people. Like, there’s this farmer who can’t grow any crops because a bird demon keeps eating them. They kill the bird and say goodbye to the farmer and soon they’re off on their next adventure._

_This goes on for most the book until they meet a dancer in some famous troupe. She invites them to watch her group practice and everything seems okay until the lights explode in the middle of rehearsal. One of the dancers claims she saw a ghost, so the two main characters begin their investigation._

_Instead of defeating the monster quickly, like usual, the boy spends time with the dancer, and they grow close. The princess starts to feel lonely and heartbroken. So when they finally fight the ghost, she isn’t fighting at full power._

_Then the ghost murders the dancer brutally. It’s strange, most of the book is pretty kid friendly. The violence is at the same level of a kid’s anime like Sailor Moon or Pokémon. There’s fighting, but no bloodshed. Just a few scratches and bruises. But then this fight happens and the girl gets decapitated. The boy is shocked and goes into a panic, but the princess doesn’t seem to care. It’s a bit hard to read her here. It’s possible that her emotions got in the way and kept her from fighting at full strength. Or maybe she LET the ghost hurt the dancer._

_They get into a fight and almost part ways, but when a distress signal comes in from a desert town. They go to help and they’re told about a scorpion demon hiding out in the desert and I swear it’s just like the desert in your story.._

_Just sand, everywhere you look. And then the book ends as they’re about to meet their next enemy._

_End Spoilers_

_._

_._

_._

_I checked the internet, thinking surely it couldn’t be that rare, but you’re right. It doesn’t seem to be listed anywhere. Searching for the author didn’t turn anything up either, it’s like they don’t exist. I tried looking around my room for my copy, thinking that maybe it would help if we knew the publisher, but my copy seems to have gone missing._

_Honestly if you hadn’t said you’d heard of it, I would think I imagined the entire thing._

_Good luck finding it. The author’s name is A.M. Oswin, which is honestly kind of funny. It didn’t help me at all, but hopefully you’ll have better luck with it._

I gulped, reading over the message one last time. This was impossible. None of this made sense. _‘What do I tell Jacob?’_ I copied the link to my comments, and pasted it into my text app, but I hesitated instead of clicking send.

 _‘This story is just like Nightingales? Maybe I read it and made my own version of the story?’_ I’d done similar things as a child, creating my own versions of Pokémon and Digimon that were extremely similar to the source material. And this would explain why I wrote something as gruesome as Heather’s death. I was just copying the source material!

But no, that made no sense. Whenever I copied anything I always put my own spin on things. These stories were _too_ similar. In my version of Pokémon, Ash was a girl and she won all the tournaments with her partner Hanako, a cute little ghost flower. And in my version of Digimon _everyone_ got to reach the highest level. Plus I never outright used the same names.

Okay sure I named some of my OCs after my favorite anime or video game characters, but those were just names. I would never create carbon copies like this.

And that author?

A.M. Oswin.

A.M. as in- Apple Magus?

No, it had to be a coincidence.

I paced around my room, trying to calm down. I couldn’t keep this to myself, I had to tell Jacob. Maybe this was all a prank! Maybe he was ReverieBlossom and this was all an elaborate joke! No, that wouldn’t explain everything. He mentioned Bloodstained Nightingale first and told me it was about a boy and girl fighting evil.

Maybe that part was true and everything else fit together and the prank was born from there? No, he’d never do something like this. This would be too cruel for a prank. He wouldn’t mess with my perception of reality, not when he knew what a wreck my anxiety made me.

I sent the link.

**_Claire:_ ** _Jacob, this is really weird._

I paced around my room, clinging tightly to my phone, hoping he’d respond soon. Every second felt like an hour, but he wasn’t responding. _A minute passed._ Not too bad, he might have been on the internet. _Three minutes._ Probably not staring at his phone right this minute. He could be on the computer. _Five minutes._ I needed to calm down, this wasn’t helping my anxiety. _Ten minutes._ He had a life, he was allowed to do other stuff and be too busy to respond, but why did fate have to screw with me now‽ _Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes._

I picked up my Nightingales tablet and took it to my bed, desperately flipping through it as if I could find some clue. But nope, everything was just as I recalled, the story I (mostly) remembered writing as a child. Fragments of the writing process flooded back to me.

 _‘I think a dancing troupe would be cool,’_ said Brandon.

 _‘What if they’re haunted by a ghost?’_ I suggested.

We made this story together. Brandon and I. Not some A.M. Oswin weirdo. I tore at my hair, trying to figure this out. My phone lit up and I snatched it off the bed, urgently tearing through my lock screen to get to my messages.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Sorry, my mom needed me. Reading it now._

I felt something tickling my free hand, probably a loose strand of hair. I tried to shake it off, but to no avail. I waited desperately for Jacob’s reply, my eyes glued to the phone.

**_Jacob:_ ** _What the Hell? This is extremely bizarre. If I didn’t know you better I’d just assume this was a really elaborate long game prank._

**_Claire:_ ** _I swear Jacob. I have no clue what’s going on._

**_Jacob:_ ** _I know. I believe you._

That tickling feeling on my hand persisted. I let out a sigh and decided to give it my full attention. _‘I swear if this is a bug I am going to smash its guts out.’_ I hoped it was just a strand of hair, but I expected a fly if I was mildly unlucky or a cockroach at worst.

I saw a scorpion crawling across the back of my hand. it was only the second I’d seen in my life. Taking my tablet in my free hand, I knocked it away with as much force as I could muster, sending it flying across the room.

I chased after it, prepared to smash it, but it disappeared behind the shelf and I couldn’t find it again. My legs and heart felt weak, but I marched into the living room and found my mother on the couch, watching Netflix on her phone. “Mom, where’s the Raid? I just saw a scorpion in my room.”

She looked up at me, her face in shock. “A scorpion?”

I nodded. She grabbed a bottle from behind the couch and marched off to my room, apparently determined to take matters into her own hands. I didn’t mind though. If it meant avoiding that thing, I’d let someone else fight my battle for me.

I bit my lip as I sent a text to Jacob. I had to tell him what was going on.

**_Claire:_ ** _A scorpion just crawled over my hand._


	13. Texts

**Interlude**

**Texts**

**_Claire:_ ** _Jacob, what’s going on?_

_I can’t pretend this is just a coincidence anymore._

_Nothing makes sense._

**_Jacob:_ ** _I know._

**_Claire:_ ** _What do I do?_

_I can’t tell my mom. She won’t believe me._

**_Jacob:_ ** _I’m sorry, but I don’t know._

**_Claire:_ ** _Demons aren’t real._

_Oneirophobia can’t be doing this!_

_But then, what is?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _What do we know? We should go over everything._

_Including the stuff we never mentioned because we thought it didn’t matter._

**_Claire:_ ** _I don’t -think- I left anything out._

_There’s just been so much going on though._

_Did something else happen on your end?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _That kid, the one who mentioned Bloodstained Nightingale to me. When he came into the bookstore, he used a membership card. His name’s Brandon. I didn’t mention anything because I did want to upset you._

**_Claire:_ ** _What did he look like?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _He looked like he was ten or twelve. Messy black hair. Really pale. Honestly pretty ordinary looking other than the scar on his left thigh._

**_Claire:_ ** _My Brandon had a scar on his left thigh!_

_I mean my friend Brandon._

_He isn’t mine._

_In didn’t mean it that way._

_And really he isn’t even a friend at all anymore._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Calm down, Claire, I know what you meant._

**_Claire:_ ** _I had a commenter named Brandon._

_Oh my God. I need to delete that story._

_What if it really is cursing people?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _I- yeah maybe you should._

_I don’t want to admit this might be real._

_I want to pretend it’s going to all be okay._

_But I don’t know what’s going on._

**_Claire:_ ** _It won’t delete._

_I keep trying to delete the story but I’m getting an error message._

_And I can’t message the staff. It won’t go through._

_And I can’t edit the story either. The changes aren’t saving._

_And I can’t write a warning in the tags._

_It won’t let me delete my account either._

**_Jacob:_ ** _That’s definitely suspicious._

**_Claire:_ ** _Am I bad?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _What?_

**_Claire:_ ** _I wrote this story, even though I’d been warned that Oneirophobia was dangerous._

_Am I bad for doing that?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _Don’t be ridiculous Claire. You had no way of knowing what was going to happen._

_It isn’t your fault._

**_Claire:_ ** _I’m sorry._

_I cursed you._

_I didn’t mean to._

**_Jacob:_ ** _We should go over everything we can remember._

_Okay you got sick.  
Brandon came into the library looking for Bloodstained Nightingale.  
You wrote the story and some of your readers got sick.  
ReverieBlossom mentioned Bloodstained Nightingale.  
You discover your own book, Nightingales.  
Rebecca and I discover the torn books at the library and we find a scorpion.  
Brandon visits me again and buys some books.  
You find out Bloodstained Nightingale is just like the book you wrote as a kid. And then a scorpion attacks you.  
  
_

**_Claire:_ ** _Wait. Heather died. I forgot that. She died in Nightingales. The ghost killed her by shoving a claw through her body. I didn’t want to mentioned it because it scared me. I didn’t want to admit I wrote something so cruel as a kid._

_Clara and Bradley don’t argue over it like in Bloodstained Nightingale, and she got Deus ex Machina-d back to life by Brandon. It’s not an exact match but it’s close enough. But I still killed her. I think I was jealous because she flirted with Brandon’s self-insert._

_Wait, I think I remember another customer mentioning the decapitation. I had no context for it at the time, so I didn’t realize it was important. God I should have realized. A princess, a dancer, and a knight! I feel like a fool for missing it._

**_Claire:_ ** _This is a nightmare right?_

_Just another fever dream._

_I’m going to wake up soon, right?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _Shit! I just remembered something. Brandon said if he doesn’t read Bloodstained Nightingale, the world might end._

**_Claire:_ ** _How do you forget that‽_

**_Jacob:_ ** _In my defense, a lot has been happening and I originally had that filed under ‘stuff that obviously isn’t real’ along with all the other doomsday despair nonsense. Like the demon king who wants you to write a creepypasta apparently._

**_Claire:_ ** _Jacob?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _Yes Claire?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Should I write the second creepypasta?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _I don’t know._


	14. Brandon Michaels Bites the Apple

**Chapter 12**

**Brandon Michaels Bites the Apple**

Valerie and I walked through the mall. I felt a little overdressed, wearing a dress shirt, slacks, and tie, but I’d been expecting to be at work right now. Those plans were dashed when a surprise scorpion infestation shut the office down for the day. Still, it was a paid day off so I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The mall was a simple two story building, where shops came and went. Apparently the rent here was absurd, so if you couldn’t grab your market quickly, you went under. A lot of store rooms were currently empty, and the only half the stalls at the food court had anything in them. This mall was dying and it felt so empty.

“Any luck finding Catscratch online?” I asked.

“Nope,” Valerie shook her head.

“That sucks. I know how hard it is to look for something online and not find it.” Hands behind my head, I sighed.

“Why, what have you been looking for?”

“Song on YouTube. It’s an indie song by an amateur artist, their voice wasn’t that great but it was catchy.” I hummed a few notes. “I can barely remember the tune or the lyrics, but it was about a singer who couldn’t be the star she wanted to be. Sadly the algorithm won’t bring it up anymore. Starting to worry it got deleted.” My voice isn’t the greatest, but it got the job done as I sang a few lines.

_“Liars hide in downturned eyes  
Reaching for the unseen skies  
But passion burns in crimson tides  
The crowning act of imposter’s demise”_

“That is kind of catchy,” she admitted. “Sucks that you can’t find it again. Hopefully we’ll both have better luck soon.”

Valerie let out a sigh as her face morphed into a bittersweet expression halfway between smirk and grimace. “If my memories of the show weren’t so vivid, I’d assume I dreamt it all. You ever have that happen? You wake up from a dream remembering something that was never real?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Loads of times. I remember episodes from TV shows that never existed. Or I’ll wake up thinking there’s a new chapter of my favorite manga when there isn’t. Once when I was little I dreamt that my mom had bought me this awesome new game called _Chronicles of the Melody_ on Super Nintendo. I had so much fun playing it.

“When I woke up, I knew that my mom hadn’t bought it, and that was only a dream. But for a few minutes I could have sworn it was real, that I’d played it before. Maybe at a friend’s house or at a display in the store. When my head cleared up, the disappointment sank in.”

We passed a clothing store. Two signs flanked the entrance, advertising swim wear via two shirtless hunks with a lot of muscles. I blushed as I looked away in embarrassment. Sure they were hot, but I had a boyfriend so I felt a little guilty. I crashed into a nearby podium. “Oww,” I said as I rubbed my face. “I forgot this was here.”

Valerie laughed at me and I felt my face burning brighter. “So what was the game about?”

“Can’t remember.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “It’s been ages since I had that dream. I just remember really enjoying it. It’s too bad though. I bet I could make a lot of money by selling it as an indie game,” I said jokingly.

“Dreams can be so weird. They bend your perception of reality. Even when you’re awake they sometimes still take their hold of you and it becomes impossible to distinguish what’s real from what’s fake.”

“I once had a dream that I was lying in bed with insomnia. I just tossed and turned there trying to go to sleep. It felt like I was there for hours.” I remember feeling frustrated and a little bit tired as the imaginary night seemed to drag on forever. “But when I woke up feeling refreshed, I knew that I’d been asleep.”

We made it down the end of one of the mall’s wings, where the used bookstore waited for us. It was a small room, with a wooden floor and lots of high shelves. Everywhere you looked, books waited for your perusal. A few authors had their own sections, Janet Evanovich, Nora Roberts, and tons of names I didn’t recognize. But mostly they were sorted by genre and then by author, nothing too unusual for a bookstore.

“Looking for anything in particular?” I asked Valerie. She had been on her way here when I told her I had my day off, so I was the one who agreed to join her. I shot a quick gaze at the nearby romance section. A few of the books featured shirtless men, but most of them weren’t my type.

“Nah, just window shopping. You can get some fun stuff for really cheap,” she said.

I agreed, I’d been here before and managed to pick up the entire _Bartimaeus Sequence_ for under thirteen dollars. And I got the _Golden Compass_ trilogy for less than ten. (Still haven’t gotten to the spin offs, sequels, and prequels though. Maybe I should splurge some real money on them.)

I meandered to the trusty Young Adult section, where all the best books sat. I ignored the _Harry Potter_ section, a sorrowful lament growing in my heart, mourning for what once was, and decided to see what else these shelves offered.

I scanned the shelves casually, with no regard for order. Left, up, down, right, I moved in spirals to find something that could catch my attention. My gaze settled on a book with red letters on a black spine. _Bloodstained Nightingale by A.M. Oswin._

I reached out for the book and examined the cover. It was black, with red letters in a gothic font. Thorny vines snaked around the cover in a much darker shade of red, wrapped around a helpless white bird that seemed to struggle for escape. Its white feathers were specked with yet another shade of red. I assumed this to be the nightingale’s blood.

_‘Or maybe it’s something else’s blood?’_

I turned the book over.

_Bloodstained Nightingale_

_When Clara and Bradley met in a park one day, they had no idea their lives would change forever. But when they unlock magical new powers, they know they’re the only ones who can save the land from a dangerous plague of monsters. But can two teenagers really take the fate of the world into their own hands, or will their youth and inexperience doom them both._

_Will the nightingale fly, or will it crash to the ground‽_

My fingers tightened on the spine of the book. The premise wasn’t entirely original, lots of stories featured teenagers fighting against evil. Honestly, if that were the only thing about this book I noticed, I would have put it right back. But the names were the same as the main characters from a story I once wrote with a friend.

Well, _former_ friend. Former _best_ friend.

I sighed, just thinking about it. Sometimes I missed them, but I _had_ to let go.

It was years ago, when we were still children. We must have been about ten. The characters we came up were named Clara and Bradley and they were basically author avatars for us. I’d even chosen a name similar to my own- Brandon and Bradley both started with the same three letters. Not to mention I had quite a few friends nicknaming me Brad as I grew up.

And the interrobang‽ Those weren’t exactly common in professional publishing. My friend loved them when we were kids and used them a lot. Honestly, sometimes I used them too, always thinking of my friend whenever I did so. 

Not to mention the author’s last name, _Oswin._

“Hey, Brandon, come check this out,” Valerie called me.

“What is it?” I spun around and found her in the mystery section. It was a short walk away, not that this story was very big, so I arrived at her side soon enough.

“It’s a collection of Sherlock Holmes short stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,” she held up a thick red tome. It was a hardcover with no dust jacket, and aged yellowing pages. “I’ve always wanted to check out the original canon and this book is only 3 dollars. I think I’m going to get it.”

“Sounds great. I’m going to pick this up,” I held up my empty hands and stared at them in confusion. “That’s strange. I was just holding a book. I must have put it down without realizing it.” I retraced my steps, checking every shelf I passed for signs of a misplaced book. Yet everything seemed in order.

Valerie followed behind me, double checking all the shelves. “What was it called?”

“ _Bloodstained Nightingale_ by A.M. Oswin.” I scratched the nape of my neck, wondering when I could have put it down. “It’s mostly black, with some splashes of red. There’s a white bird on the cover, wrapped in red vines.” The Young Adult section and Mystery section weren’t far from each other. I took a clear path, cutting through the Sports section. There weren’t many places I could have put it down.

But it wasn’t in Sports.

I got to the Young Adult section and quickly spun around. I hadn’t set it on any of the nearby shelves. It wasn’t with the _Harry Potter_ books or _The Hunger Games._ But I couldn’t find it on the main shelf either. It wasn’t among the O authors where I’d picked it up. I glared at the shelf, as if demanding it to yield its secrets to me. But I couldn’t find the missing book.

I searched methodically, placing my finger on the spine of each book, moving one by one. But _Bloodstained Nightingale_ wasn’t here. “Someone else must have picked it up while I was talking to you,” I surmised, rubbing my head again.

I looked around, but didn’t see anybody else in the store. Guess they must have come and gone really quickly. That’s what I get for not paying attention, I guess.

***

Valerie paid for her book and we soon took ourselves outside, sitting at on one of the many wooden benches offered to mall patrons. It wasn’t the most comfortable bench, there were no cushions and the hard surface made my ass hurt, and the bench didn’t support my back very well, but it was better than standing.

Valerie held up her new book like a trophy. “Best 3 dollars I’ve spent in ages.”

“Even better than the milkshake?”

“Okay I take it back. Best 3 dollars I’ve spent on non-food items in ages.”

We both chuckled. “So what’s the deal with that book, was it one you were really looking forward to?” Valerie asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders, not really sure how to explain it. “Not really. I’ve never heard of it before and it didn’t even really look that good. Probably not something I’d want to spend full price on. It just reminds me of something from my childhood.”

“Oooh,” Valerie leaned in. “This is getting interesting. Tell me about it.”

“Okay, remember I told you about my first crush? Cody Oswin, from back when I was a kid?”

“Yeah, you got that scar on your leg defending them from a dog attack, right?”

I nodded. “We used to take turns writing together in this tablet, creating an epic story of good versus evil. Sadly we never finished it, though I can’t remember why. We never even had a _name_ for the story.

“The two main characters were named Clara and Bradley and they were basically our self inserts, but Cody wanted to be a princess. We were really proud of our story and showed our parents a few times. Since Clara was a girl and Bradley was a boy, they kept asking if the two main characters were in love.”

Valerie rolled her eyes. “God I hate when adults force heteronormativity on children.”

“Well, yeah, kind of. But it’s way more complicated than that. Clara was Cody’s self-insert. I think the adults might have realized this. We were too young at the time to understand what that might have meant, but a relationship between our characters would have, in essence, been a facsimile of a relationship between us.

“Were the adults being heteronormative? Or did they realize that Cody and I were kind of falling for each other? Was that their way of trying to subtly show their approval?” I held my face in my hands and took a deep breath. “It’s not the kind of thing I want to ask my parents about. Hey, mom, dad, how gay was I as a kid? Did you know that I had a super gay crush on my best friend who might not actually even really be a boy?”

I let out a moan. “It’s also _embarrassing_ to think that maybe our parents had this all figured out before we did. But this is all one huge digression.” I told her everything, about the characters in _Bloodstained Nightingale_ sharing names with our inserts, and about the author’s name being Oswin. “And then the book just vanishes! How weird is that‽”

Valerie crossed her arms. “Well, we likely just couldn’t find it. If it’s that important to you, just buy a copy online. Sounds like this is weighing heavily on you, you can spare a few bucks for some ease of mind. As for the rest of the stuff, maybe Cody just told a family member about the story and then they went and wrote it. Or maybe A.M. Oswin is Cody, and A.M. could just be their new name. Or even a penname. Maybe you should contact them for royalties?”

“Hahaha, very funny. I don’t think I could ever bring myself to speak to them again. Not after how awkward things got. I pushed Cody away, Cody got clingy, and that just made me madder. It’s been years since we spoke, I don’t think we can undo that.”

Valerie rolled her eyes. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“Maybe,” I sighed. “It’s just really hard.” I grabbed my phone from my pocket and launched the Amazon app, doing a search for _Bloodstained Nightingale._ I got 0 results for the book I wanted. “That’s weird, the book isn’t on Amazon.” I did a Google search but still couldn’t find anything. “This book must be really rare. I hope I didn’t miss my only chance to read it.”

Not that I was even sure I _wanted_ to read it. I bit my lip as I logged onto Facebook and searched through my old Facebook messages. There weren’t too many people there, I had other ways of keeping in touch with friends and family. I easily found the name I needed.

Claire Oswin.

I kept chewing on my lip, unsure of what to do.

“I’ll need to think this over first,” I said to Valerie.


	15. Triskaidekaphobia

**Chapter Blank**

**Triskaidekaphobia**

There is no Chapter 13. None of us want bad luck.


	16. The Second Creepypasta

**Interlude**

**Fear the Nightmare Desert**

You’ve probably never heard of the game _Fear the Nightmare Desert._ It wasn’t an officially licensed Super Nintendo product. It was one of those trashy bootlegs that made the Angry Video Game Nerd praise a skunk’s rear end in an exaggerated yet not unearned analogy. It was apparently pretty rare too, some say less than fifty copies were ever made. And I was one of the unlucky few to get one.

My mom found it at a thrift shop while looking for new clothes. It was almost my thirteenth birthday and I guess she thought it would make a good present. She knew I loved games and probably figured I’d be old enough to handle something with a title like this. Truth be told it didn’t _look_ that scary. The cover featured a woman in a thick cloak walking through an endless desert as the sun set behind her.

When I unwrapped it on my birthday, I gave my mom a quick hug and almost dashed off to play it, but she told me I still had to deal with my party and our guests. It was with a heavy heart that I sat down to unwrap the rest of the presents, though I smiled as I held up each gift, and thanked my friends and family for getting them. I even got a few other, more popular SNES games like Zelda, Donkey Kong, and Megaman X2. I’d played these all at friends’ houses, so I knew they were great games.

I was thrilled to own my own copies, to be able to play whenever I wanted without having to head over to visit a friend, but _Fear the Nightmare Desert_ had an allure of mystery that came with the unknown. I listened to my friends whispering, none of them had ever heard of it before. Not even Max, and he had all the best gaming magazines in the world. He knew everything about Super Nintendo!

Party games were next. My mom figured things like pin the tail on the donkey might be a bit too young for me, so she brought out a karaoke machine she’d borrowed from a friend. I killed it with a Britney Spear’s song, and applauded to all my friends when they sang. They were alright. But my eyes kept darting to the living room, where I’d carefully placed my new game next to the Super Nintendo.

After I did a splendid encore performance, my mother finally brought out the birthday cake. It had fourteen candles on it, my family always put an extra one on for good luck. It was a simple homemade cake, chocolate Betty Crocker with chocolate frosting. It could be a little dry at times but I always loved my mother’s cakes. Taking a deep breath, I made my wish and blew the candles out.

I gobbled down my cake like I hadn’t eaten all day and excitedly waited for the others to do the same. I wanted nothing more than for them all to go away so I could play my video game. This was the last thing on our agenda. I knew that one we were done with the cake, everyone would leave and I’d get to play my game.

You have to understand. It was a school night. I love my friends and family and I was happy to see them. But I’d see all my friends tomorrow at school! And my family visits all the time! I just wanted to play my new game while I had a chance.

“Your new game looks really fun,” said Eloise, staring into the living room. She had bits of chocolate cake smashed all around her mouth. She was a great friend but a bit of a messy eater. Luckily she hadn’t gotten any on her clothes like she had at her own birthday party last month. “Hopefully I can come over and play it some time.”

“Of course you can!” I said with a genuine smile. I was not a selfish teenager. I’d played so many games of Super Mario Kart at Eloise’s house with her and we always had weekend sleepovers where we’d stay up all night playing Donkey Kong Country together. I’d be glad to return the favor, once I got to try the game out for myself of course.

I wanted to learn all the game’s secrets and look cool playing it in front of my friends. How silly would I look if I didn’t even know how to play my own game?

Max approached me next, his face a mixture of worry and embarrassment. “Is something wrong?” I asked him.

“I’ve heard some rumors before, about how some people can make their own video games that play just like real ones. I’ve never heard of _Fear the Nightmare Desert_ before. I want to know more about it, but the title is scary. I heard most video games have to go through testers to make sure they aren’t too scary, but if this one isn’t official, then maybe it didn’t need to.”

I out on a bright smile. I once helped Max play Eco the Dolphin on Sega Genesis. It was too hard for him to beat on his own. I wasn’t so great at it either, but working together we were able to get past the first few levels. When we got to the later levels, the monsters were too scary for him and he ran out of the room screaming. I had to explain what happened to his mom. From then on she never bought any video games without checking online message boards first. It had been a few years since then, but he’s never touched the game again to this day. Which kind of sucks, I’m still hoping we can work together to beat it someday.

My uncles Danny and Grant asked me how I liked the sweater they’d bought me. It wasn’t the flashiest of presents, but it was getting cold so I put it on right away. “I love it, thank you” I did a quick twirl. “It looks so pretty.” It was a pink and purple pullover with lots of shiny beads.

My classmates Carter and Anthony finished eating their cake and came to see me together. They were brothers, though you couldn’t tell by looking. “Do you have any idea where your mom got that game for you?” Carter asked.

“We go game shopping all the time, but we’ve never seen that,” said Anthony. He wasn’t bragging or anything, just explaining the facts. Although I was a little jealous. Their parents made a lot of money and they got almost everything they ever wanted. But I couldn’t complain too much. They were the ones who got me my Super Nintendo last year. My poor mom and dad found it so awkward to receive such an outlandish gift from a classmate, but they saw how happy it made me so they didn’t complain.

I did feel bad that I never found a way to pay them back though. Hopefully this game would be something super amazing and awesome and my mom could direct them to a copy of their own. It felt a little like cheating, since we were only giving them directions, but it was the best our bank accounts could offer.

I felt a twinge of guilt in my heart. These were all my friends and family and here I was, wishing for them to leave so I could go play a game. But it looked really fun though. Still, it wasn’t long until the cake was done and my wish came true. We all gathered outside to wish our guests goodbye.

We lived at the end of a road, a little cul-de-sac, so there wasn’t much traffic. Everybody got in their cars and the adults drove off as I waved. My good friend Raven gave me a tight hug before she left. “We should have a sleepover soon so we can play all your new games!”

I smiled and agreed.

It’s funny, as eager as I was to play my new game, I still felt lonely watching everybody leave. Maybe I wouldn’t have minded a little more party time, but it was a school night and the others probably needed to still do some homework. (Luckily I was able to do all of mine before the party began.) It was only about 4:00, so I could probably get in a few good hours of gaming before my bed time.

(I remember protesting so heavily, insisting that a teenager no longer _needed_ a bed time. But mother knows best so I never got anywhere with that argument.)

Still, I sat down and plugged my game in, drowning out all other sounds as I flipped the switch on my SNES. The sound of the blender in the kitchen as my mother started working on dinner, the neighbor’s dogs barking in the next yard, the sirens down the road, the incessant chirping of Mynah birds outside, and the loud screeching of stray alley cats all faded away as the game loaded a simple screen featuring the woman from the boxart.

A close-up of her face greeted me, she frowned, eyes closed, and it looked like she was crying. She carried a box close to her chest, but I couldn’t tell what was in it. I pressed the start button and the game began, no options menu, save screen, or password system to look at.

A small graphical representation of a character appeared in the middle of the screen. Based on the color scheme of her clothing, I surmised that this was in fact the woman from the cover. She was in the middle of a plain desert, no rocks, trees, or other features to note. With no clues whatsoever, and no instruction manual to guide me, I simply held right and hoped that the next screen would be more interesting.

One screen, two, then three, all as blank as before. I hoped for a cactus, a rock, or a tree. Anything to show some progress and help distinguish the areas from each other, but it was just a plain and ordinary desert. Nothing nightmarish about it.

“How’s your new game, sweetie?” My mom called out from the kitchen.

She was making meatloaf, the perfect treat for a birthday dinner, and I didn’t want her to feel disappointed. “It’s really cool so far,” I lied. After thirteen screens of nothing, I was getting bored. Part of me wanted to spit the game out and play Zelda instead, but I wanted to keep going so I could show some appreciation to my mother.

I tried different directions, up, down, left. I knew that logically I’d be going in a circle, but I’d played plenty of video games where actual directions don’t matter, and I hoped that I’d find something. Finally, after going through one last screen transition, I found my first NPC.

It was a young man sitting on a towel, with some goods displayed on a table before him. I didn’t seem to have any in game currency yet, but I wanted to see what he had anyway. I walked up to him and pressed A.

“Will you sell your life to me?”

A screen popped up, showing my character’s face and some stats. Nothing like an RPG, there was no HP, Attack, or Defense. Just “Age” and “Time Remaining.” Her age was listed as 23 and Time remaining was at 55 Years 7 Months 3 Days 24 Minutes 13 Seconds.

12 Seconds.

11 Seconds.

Never before had a game made my heart pound like that, so loud I could hear it in my ears. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to soothe away the panic.

I pressed B, overwhelmed by the oddity of the concept. I didn’t have much time to look at the merchant’s offerings, but they all seemed to be listing amounts of time rather than money. I took a step away and decided to finally try the other buttons, maybe one of them would bring up a menu that would offer some advice.

I just got a stat screen with the same numbers, though she was now down to 23 minutes and some seconds. _‘Okay, so I have a time limit. 55 Years is a lot of time, I can handle it no problem. Just so long as the merchant doesn’t over charge.’_ I was thirteen and I wasn’t going to let a game intimidate me this way.

I talked to the merchant again.

“Time is precious. Please don’t waste mine again or I may be forced to take yours.”

Missing Voice- 5 Years  
Broken Heart- 10 Years  
Cooked Rabbit- 15 Years  
Bananas- ????

I didn’t want to buy everything just yet, so I started with the Missing Voice item, as it was the cheapest and placed at the top of the list. It vanished from the list of goods and the game chimed like when making a typical RPG purchase. I always thought of that sound as the exchange of money, rendered through distorted audio. Hearing it now at a time of such abstract made a chill run up my spine.

Time Remaining: 50 Years

As if that weren’t enough, the prices the Broken Heart and Cooked Rabbit both went up 5 more years! The Bananas remained at the same mystery price, though for all I knew they had gone up. I considered buying them all immediately, as long as the prices didn’t rise too rapidly I would have enough “Time,” but I’d rather spend it exploring the desert, getting a feel for what to do. No sense in buying everything if I time out and never get to use it all.

I hit the back button.

“No refunds,” the merchant told me, his face contorting in a sinister glare, with narrow eyes and sharp looking teeth. I ignored him and continued wandering around to find my next NPC. It only took a few screens for me to find a scorpion. Figuring it might offer a clue, I tried to interact with it. But when I got to close, the screen transitioned to a close up. The scorpion drew closer, growing in size. It swung its tail forward and blood splattered the screen. My character let out a distorted scream, the SNES audio a blood chilling mockery of a human voice.

The words Game Over flashed on screen and I found myself back in the desert. Checking my stats I saw that I was back to where I started, 55 Years remaining. So with renewed vigor I set out to find the merchant once more.

“Scorpions are nasty creatures,” he warned. “It’s best to avoid them.”

I bought the Missing Voice again and ventured into the desert once more. I retraced my steps, taking the same path as best as I remembered. I found the scorpion again. This time it was red, as if covered in blood. The tiny arachnid gave chase, but I maneuvered around it, and continued to the next screen.

I saw a woman waiting for me. A push of the A button brought up a dialogue screen and told me her name was Maria. “Hello? Are you lost in the desert too?” She had a beautiful face, albeit a few lines and wrinkles showed her age. “Would you like to hear my story?”

I clicked yes and waited for her to tell her tale.

“I wanted to be a singer. All my friends and family told me I had a lovely voice.” The SNES simulated speech sounds to match with her words, but they were a horrid and garbled mess. “The voice coaches who trained me all agreed. And though you may think they were being kind, even the judges at all my auditions loved my voice.

“I tried to get into plays, I tried to get a recording contract, I sang my heart out at auditions, and sent in recording demos of my music. ‘You have such a lovely voice,’ they all told me. Each and every one.

“’But you’re not what we’re looking for. You’re too ugly. People will never listen to you sing.’ I was heartbroken. Like a nightingale I cried tears of beauty, drowning in sorrow as I came to realize people would never be blessed with the joys of hearing me sing.

“Then a man came. He was short and wrinkly, wearing a black coat and a top hat. He had a wide smile and spoke in a low voice. ‘I can grant you any desire your heart wishes for. For a price you won’t miss. I can give you a beautiful new face that everyone will adore. Just give me your old face. You won’t need it anymore.’”

The woman’s portrait changed with each sentence. Her eyes narrowed and her shoulders tensed. Her smile widened, showing more of her teeth with each passing word.

“The police were at my doorstep the next day. They arrested me for the murder of a family I’d never met. The man gave me a new face alright, and it was beautiful, but it was also the face of a **killer**. They locked me in jail for years.

“I didn’t belong there. The others hurt me and beat me and slashed my throat.” Her portrait pulled down the collar of her shirt, revealing a long, angry, red scar. “It ruined my voice. Now I can’t even sing. But at least I am free.”

A prompt appeared on the screen.

-Give her “Missing Voice”  
-Yes  
-No

I selected yes and watched her smile grow. She hummed a quick melody. Though it was exactly what you’d expect of an SNES title, it was much better than the mess of a voice she had before. She practiced a few notes and began to sing a strange song.

_I wanted to be great  
The best they’ve ever seen  
Adored by all, a golden idol  
Your undefeated Queen!_

_I wanted everything  
Wouldn’t settle for a little less  
I aimed for the brightest stars  
A princess of excess_

_But now I’m nothing  
Crashed and burned the dream  
A worthless zero  
Faded forgotten memory_

_Liars hide in downturned eyes  
Reaching for the unseen skies  
But passion burns in crimson tides  
The crowning act of an imposter’s demise_

_I thought they’d all like me  
If I could reach the top  
But I hit the bottom  
Halting to a stop_

_I tried to be the best  
But I was just a joke  
And now it’s time to pay the piper  
Though I just went for broke_

_I’ve lost everything  
Crashed and burned I scream  
A worthless zero  
Empty discarded now I bleed_

_Liars hide in downturned eyes  
Reaching for the unseen skies  
But passion burns in crimson tides  
The crowning act of an imposter’s demise_

_Though I dared to dream to try  
Broken wings can never fly  
But passion paints pictures to mind  
The curtain calls of an imposter’s pride_

I chose to applaud when prompted and the screen zoomed in on Maria’s face. “Thank you, it feels so great to finally have my voice back. But it’s been so long, this beautiful face is now withered and old,” she said with a frown. “Nobody will ever pay any attention to me. I’m back to square one.

“I need a new face. One that’s beautiful and young.”

My character screamed as the screen went red for a few seconds. Then everything faded black as a figure returned center stage. It was Maria, I could tell because she had the same clothes on. But now she had the main character’s face.

After another quick Game Over screen I found myself at the start. Checking my status screen, I saw that my character had only 50 Years remaining, but the minutes and seconds spent wandering the desert had been restored. Perhaps this is what the merchant meant by ‘no refunds.’

Would I have to be careful then? Would dying too much result in me lacking the Time to purchase necessary items‽ No, when the scorpion killed me, I got my time back and was able to use it to repurchase Maria’s Missing Voice. Whatever rules this game ran on, I’d have to work harder to find out.

Again I worked my way to the merchant.

“Only fools give themselves away for free,” he said ominously. 

The Missing Voice item was now, in fact, missing from the list. I bought the next item, Broken Heart, for fifteen years. The Cooked Rabbit once again went up in price, this time to 35 Years. If I bought it, then my on screen avatar would have only months to life. It would be enough for me to beat the game, in theory, but what if I got some bad ending because she was so close to dying? And even if not, I felt bad for her. She didn’t deserve this.

I resolved to check the internet later. Perhaps there was a Game Genie code for Infinite Time?

I took the Broken Heart with me and searched through the desert for the NPC who needed it. I once again fled the bloody scorpion, only to wander onto another deadly screen. Two scorpions approached me from opposite directions, but they weren’t a problem. I skillfully maneuvered around them as I searched for the next area.

I found another NPC, this time a man with a gray beard. When I talked to him, he let out an exaggerated sigh. His on screen text box told me his name was Felix. “Are you lost in the Nightmare Desert too? They say only those who have lost their hopes can come here, forever doomed to remember their greatest failures. Would you like to hear my story?”

I chose yes.

“Growing up, there was nothing I wanted more than my father’s love. Yet he always seemed to favor my older brother, Andre. Popular with the ladies, star captain of the football team, and always the center of attention wherever he went. I wasn’t good at any sports, so I couldn’t win my father’s love that way. I turned all my attention to my studies, thinking maybe I could win him over by showing him how smart I was.

“I aced every test, got A’s on all my essays, I held a perfect attendance record, and I graduated valedictorian. I got accepted to Harvard with a full scholarship. But that wasn’t enough for my father. He ignored me and told everyone how proud he was of Andre for getting into Notre Dame and making it on the football team.

“Feeling devastated, I was ready to give up on my father’s adoration, until I met a man. He wore all black and had a top hat, and he told me his name was Simon and he could grant my wish and make my father love me. I agreed.

“Soon after, I overheard my uncle and mother fighting. My uncle said he couldn’t deny it any longer. That keeping their secret was burning him up inside, that he would have to reveal everything. My mother insisted that it would do nothing but bring pain to everyone. My uncle said that he couldn’t possibly feel more pain than he was already in. He said he would confront my father.

“My dad shot my uncle that night and then offed himself, leaving behind a note. My mother never told me what he wrote, but I could surmise the contents. My mother had an affair with her brother-in-law, my uncle, and I was their child. The man I thought was my father was actually my uncle. He must have known all along, that’s why he never loved me.

“My uncle left me a lot in his will, his house, his car, his life savings, all to me. It was a gesture of his love. But I just wanted my father. He’ll never love me now. Just thinking of this all makes me feel empty inside, like my heart has been torn out.”

Once prompted, I handed over the Broken Heart.

Felix looked at me with pity. “Is this how you live your life? Doing what you think will help without trying to understand others?” The screen cut to a close-up, Felix held the heart in his hand. It was like a human heart, but gray and cracked. It beat in his hand as he began to squeeze. It burst like shattered glass, and the nameless woman fell over, clutching her own heart.

Another Game Over flashed on screen.

Back at the start, I saw that I was still down to 35 Years. Biting my lip, I began my search for the merchant once more. This time my path was interrupted by more scorpions, sometimes as many as three would materialize at once. At this point I’d learned to treat them like any instant death enemy in a video game. They weren’t much to worry about so I went around them.

I finally found the merchant again and asked to see his wares. “There won’t be much of you left soon.”

I bought the Cooked Rabbit, bringing my character down to a few months. I felt bad for her, but I wanted to complete the game. Wandering the desert once more, I found myself dodging an ever growing number of scorpions. I swear I felt my heart skip a beat a few times as they moved closer to me. They were faster now but I still managed to outmaneuver them. They were far from the deadliest enemies I’d faced in a video game.

I found a young child next, a girl with blonde pigtails and a school uniform. She held a teddy bear by the paw and wept into her sleeve. The text gave her name as Wendy. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’ll be careful what I wish from now on.”

-Ask Her What’s Wrong  
-Leave

Do I even need to tell you which option I chose?

The game’s attempt at a sobbing were terrifying and reminded me more of a dying animal than a human being. I almost stood up to turn the volume down, but I was too engrossed in the game. I wanted to deal with this little girl and buy the mystery item, if I was allowed. (And if not, I would just search for a cheat or trick online.)

“Each month, we’re supposed to read a book for school and do a book report. But I got a new video game and I wanted to play it instead. It was so much fun that I ignored my book and never read it. I was too embarrassed to tell my teacher what I had done, so I tried to finish the entire book the day before. But it was so boring. I begged mommy and daddy to let me stay home, but they said no.

“A strange man visited me that night, while mommy and daddy were asleep. He asked me if I wanted to stay home from school the next day. I told him yes.” She sobbed and wailed for what felt like a good minute.

“The entire school caught fire that night,” she sobbed. “It was cancelled the next day, I didn’t have to do my book report, but the class’ pet rabbit burned up! Snowball died! It’s all my fault! I killed him because I didn’t read my book!” My stomach dropped when I saw the prompt.

-Give her “Cooked Rabbit”  
-Yes  
-No

I didn’t care what the game wanted me to do to continue. Event flags be damned, I was _not_ handing over a dead rabbit to this clearly traumatized girl. I felt the bile rise up in my throat. With no hesitation, I selected ‘no.’

My character accidentally dropped the rabbit on the sand. We got a close up of Wendy’s face as she let out a horrified scream that blasted through my speakers. “How could you! You freak! You’ve desecrated his grave!”

At my character’s feet, the rabbit burst into flames. They cackled and roared as they spread out, engulfing the nameless woman. She dropped to her knees as the fire licked her body, burning away her clothing as it cremated her alive. Soon only ash remained.

I got another Game Over.

I would have quit the game right then and there, but I wanted to see what happened next. I only had one item left to buy at the merchant’s. Would he restock? Would I unlock another world? Would there be another phase of the desert? Would I even have enough Time left to do anything? Maybe I’d get another protagonist?

Dodging scorpions became routine as I travelled back to the merchant. “You’re almost out of time he warned me.” I tried to buy the bananas. “7 Months 3 Days 19 Minutes. Are you sure you can afford that?” I’d have about 5 minutes remaining to play through as much as I could. I considered different routes to try on another play through for potentially different results. Get the items in a different order. Don’t buy from the merchant at all. (Nobody actually seemed to be appreciative of their gifts, and the little girl definitely did not want her rabbit back.) But in the end it felt like too much effort. If I couldn’t beat this game now, I’d simply look it up online.

I bought the bananas and hurried on to the next screen.

I saw a monkey in the middle of my television screen. He quickly scampered up before I could catch him. I gave chase and began a game of tag. He ran left and so did I. Then he went down and I followed. It got harder as scorpions began manifesting, but like I said, they’d become routine. Even if they did appear in greater numbers now. Five. Seven. They soon flooded the screen, creating a moving labyrinth of deadly obstacles, always ignoring the monkey as they chased after me. Time ticked away, but I was determined to see this through.

I let out a sigh of relief when I saw another NPC at last, but I flinched when I took a better look at the scene. He wore a black coat and a top hat, like the mysterious wish granting stranger the other NPCs mentioned. And at his feet I saw the monkey in a puddle of blood. It was missing a paw.

I didn’t have much time left so I approached the man and engaged in a conversation. The text confirmed his identity, Simon, but there had never been any doubt. His portrait was wrinkled, with tufts of white hair poking out beneath his top hat. His smile stretched across his face, reminding me for some reason of the devil.

“You don’t have much time left, do you? You’ve given it all up, for some mysterious puppeteer. Why? Why help someone who takes everything from you but gives nothing in return?”

My character spoke for the first time. The game finally identified her as Delia. “Because some of us want there to be good in the world. They wanted to see what happens next, so I helped show them. I wanted to help.”

“But is this what they really wanted to see?”

Delia began aging before my eyes. Her skin wrinkled and her hair turned white. Her clothes began to fray and split as her eyes became frosty white. Her body convulsed as it disintegrated, turning to dust before my very eyes.

Simon gave a cruel chuckle as he grew younger. Hair sprouted on his head where there was none before, and it slowly dyed itself from white to brown. His wrinkles vanished and he became young again, like he’d just sucked up all of Delia’s spent youth.

Simon turned directly to the camera. “This is what you wished for isn’t it?

“Be careful what you wish for.

“You never know what will happen.”

The words Time Over appeared, booting me back not to the desert, but to the title screen. Only this time Delia was an old woman.

I considered that maybe there’d be new content if I kept playing now, but I’d had enough. It would be dinner soon and I needed a break. I turned off my Super Nintendo and tried changing the channel to watch some cartoons. When I saw the news I screamed for my mother.

She came charging in with urgency, gasping in horror when she saw it. She dropped the glass of water in her hand and it crashed to the floor. It wasn’t far from here, just down the street. Reporters had gathered to the scene of a horrible car crash. Several cars had all collided and gone up in flames. “Investigators still aren’t releasing names of the deceased to the public, but they are reporting that there are no survivors.”

I recognized every single car from earlier that day. My family, my friends, all the guests from my birthday party. The ones I’d seen laughing and eating cake not long ago. _‘Be careful what you wish for.’_ I recalled Simon’s words. And I thought back to earlier in the day as I stood before the candles burning on my cake.

_‘I wish all our guests would go away soon so I can play my game.’_


	17. Claire Oswin is Falling into Darkness

**Chapter 14**

**Claire Oswin is Falling into Darkness**

I sat there, my second creepypasta finished and ready for submission on AO3. I’d stayed up late last night writing the first half, only going to bed at 3:14 a.m. The whole prospect left me too antsy to rest, so I woke up at 6:00 to finish it. Now, at around 8, I finally had it done. I had a few issues. Did that song really add as much as I thought it did? (I wanted to keep it though.) Was the car crash a bit too much? (It was kind of dark and edgy, but I wanted something to drive home the Monkey’s Paw angle of corrupted wishes. Besides, without it, the story was just about a weird video game.)

But as I sat there ready to publish it online, I felt my conscience tugging away at me.

If the first one only served to spread Oneirophobia’s hold on people, what would happen when I submitted this second one, that would allow him to feed off people’s terrors? Did I really want to be responsible for hurting more innocents?

Could I handle the alternative? Being cursed forever?

_‘He hasn’t actually done anything too terrible, really. Not since making me sick. He’s just plagiarized my work for a piece of nightmare fiction that fades in and out of reality, torn up a few books, and sent a few scorpions after my friend and me. Oh and he may have created a nightmare servant modeled after a boy I once had a crush on.’_

I heard a loud thump in the living room. “Everything okay?” I called out, dashing as fast as I could. I knew it was probably nothing, but didn’t want my mom to get caught in the crossfire of some war with a nightmare king. I saw her standing with a slipper in her hand.

“Just another scorpion,” she said, pointing to the pile of splattered guts on the floor.

I felt relieved knowing my mom was okay, but disturbed that Oneirophobia would attack her like this. Was this his way of threatening me into uploading my story? Fine! Whatever! I’d do it!

Hopefully he’d leave me alone after this.

CW: Death, Insecurity, Scorpions, Getting Lost, Animal Death, Guilt, Murder, Unreality, Car Accidents, Body Hatred, Blood, Emotional Manipulation of Children, Implied Loss of Body Control.

I listed everything I could think of, praying that I wouldn’t traumatize anyone too badly. Of course, for all I knew, that bastard planned to delete my Content Warnings the second I turned my attention away.

 _‘Maybe I should create a second account and publish both stories there. I could keep them as far away from my main account as possible.’_ It probably wouldn’t accomplish much, but at least I’d have it out of sight and out of mind. No need to see them every time I wanted to write some fanfiction.

I published the story.

**_Claire:_ ** _I finished my second creepypasta. I’m posting it online._

_What about you? Maybe you should write some creepypastas so he’ll leave you alone._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Horror isn’t my area of expertise._

_Besides, I don’t know if that will do anything. He hasn’t told me I need to do anything for him._

**_Claire:_ ** _Better safe than sorry, right?_

_I just don’t want you getting hurt._

_I just had another scorpion attack in the apartment. This time it went after my mom._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Is she okay?_

**_Claire:_ ** _She’s fine. She killed it._

_But I’m not._

_I’ve only ever seen one scorpion in my life before this whole thing started. So I’m a little freaked out._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Yeah, it is kind of freaky that he’s using scorpions to attack everyone. But it could be worse. At least scorpions are easier to smash._

**_Claire:_ ** _Scorpions are just good for infiltration. What if I need to actually leave the house? He could send a dog after me next time._

_I just hope it’s all over now._

But only time would tell. I fell back into bed, the creative process having drained all my mental juices. Tried to scroll through Google’s selected articles, hoping one of them would be of interest. But my burning, tired eyes left the letters a blurry mess. I blinked through darkness as my eyes shut of their own accord. The phone slipped from my hand as I felt my wrist weaken. It was a pain just to hold and I had to regrip it every few seconds until I dropped it altogether.

“Owww,” I rubbed my nose.

At least it wasn’t an iPhone, so it hadn’t shattered to pieces.

**_Claire:_ ** _I think I’ll take a nap. Hopefully it’s a good one._

I set down my phone and closed my eyes, welcoming the darkness.

***

Sand sprawled everywhere. No matter which direction I looked I couldn’t make out a single detail, just the pure white sand stretching out for miles. Occasional bursts of wind would kick up a mini sandstorm that buffeted my face as I walked. I raised my arms to shield my eyes, but I felt sand fly into my mouth, coarse and grainy on my tongue. I coughed and sputtered as my asthma flared up.

The sun beat down overhead and I could feel sweat dripping down my sides. My clothes clung to my body in that icky way that makes you want to tear your skin off. I prayed for a colder wind, but every gust that came was as hot as a furnace. My tongue and throat dried up and I felt that sandy taste spread throughout my mouth.

My hair clung to my neck as I walked, heavy and unpleasant. It stopped the heat from rising away from my body, like a thick blanket I couldn’t remove. Maybe it was time to try a new hairstyle soon, but I would need to get out of this desert first.

“Hello,” I called out, my voice weak and sore. “Is anybody there?”

I honestly did not expect a voice to answer me back. “Of course I am. I am always here in this desert.” The wind swirled, forming a column of sand that solidified into a figure, like a sculpture of a man. I stared at it in awe and terror, slowly stepping away. Cracks appeared, spreading throughout the sand sculpture like a hatching egg, and chunks soon fell away to reveal the figure beneath.

Oneirophobia had pale skin almost as white as snow if not for that tinge of dirty gray. He wore a fancy black coat and top hat, much like Simon from my story. Had he taken this form to mess with me? Or had he influenced my story as I crafted it, the true puppeteer behind it all? Either way, seeing it left a knot in my stomach.

“I did _exactly_ what you asked for. I wrote the stories you wanted. Leave me alone. And don’t you dare hurt my mom or my friends either!” I tried to step back, but I tripped over nothing and tumbled backwards. In a split second, Oneirophobia closed the gap, towering over me with a smirk on his mouth. I could see his teeth, sharp and sparkling white, like a wolf’s.

“My dearest Claire. Whoever said that was the end and not the beginning? That was merely an audition. A trial to see if you were worthy of being my servant. You needed a bit of poking and prodding, but you passed well enough. We’re just getting started you and I. But don’t worry, as long as you follow my orders and do what I say, I won’t hurt you, your friends, or your family.”

I tried to back away, scrambling backwards on my hands and feet. I dragged myself through the sand, but he followed after me, gliding like a specter. “Please, just leave me alone. Let me out of this place.”

“But my dear, this is all a dream. If you want out, all you need is to wake up.”

Consciously, I must have been aware of this. The Nightmare Desert could only hold me as long as I kept dreaming. But I couldn’t wake up, no matter what I tried. When I tried to open my eyes, I felt sand fly into them. My eyes shut reflexively and I found myself struggling to keep them open. They stung, I could feel the grains of sand beneath my eyelids. Even if this was a nightmare it felt too real.

“Please just let me go,” I begged. I don’t think I had enough water in me to cry. Not tears of sorrow, or fear, or even tears to clean my eyes of the invasive particles. I felt Oneirophobia’s breath on my face, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to get a clear view.

My chest tightened and I started to cough and sputter. My sides hurt like they’d been kicked. Over and over like some strange force bludgeoning my body, I felt an ache tear through me with each cough. My throat hurt from the dryness and felt like it was being torn apart.

 _‘I need to wake up. I don’t know what Oneirophobia plans to do next but I’m not safe here.’_ This was a dream, if I had more control, like on the night we first met, I could blast Oneirophobia away and deal with all my problems in an instant. _‘I wish it were that simple, that I could just make Oneirophobia and this desert go away. Maybe I could even give myself lots of water.’_

“Oh, you really want me and this desert gone that badly?” Oneirophobia asked, his voice full of mock pain. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He yanked me up by the collar of my shirt. I felt my feet dangling in the air. I so badly wanted to kick him, but he had all the power now, and I didn’t want to provoke him. “It wasn’t very nice when you kept attacking me you know. I think it’s only fair I get a little payback.” I opened my eyes in time to see his grin widen, his mouth too big for his face.

And I fell, through the air for what felt like ages. I struggled to open my eyes but they stung too much. I tried to scream but I didn’t have enough air in my lungs. I felt the cold winds stinging my skin. It was almost enough to make me miss the desert.

I wondered if I would ever hit the ground. But of course I wouldn’t. Or course he’d go for the full irony, twist my wish in every way possible while using my own story against me.

I hit the sea instead.

It felt like hitting concrete. I nearly passed out from the impact alone, but I had enough consciousness in me to fight for survival. The sea was turbulent, tossing me this way and that, rocking like a helpless boat. I struggled toward the surface, gasping for air as I broke through. The freezing water dragged me back under, but I kicked up as hard as I could. I forced my eyes open, still stinging from the sand, and I tried to look for shore.

Now that I was begging for sand, of course I couldn’t find any. The sea stretched on for eternity.

A huge wave came and took me under, my body tumbling like a ragdoll. I opened my eyes underwater, completely unsure of which way was up, it was too dark to see. I took a gamble and swam in one direction, hoping to find the surface.

My head broke through again and I felt my lungs burn as I gasped for air. A cold wind howled and I felt my body go numb. _‘This is too much. I can’t keep this up much longer.’_ My arms thrashed, hitting the water as hard as I could in a desperate effort to stay afloat. Somehow my muscles burned with pain as they simultaneously went numb from the cold. I spun around, desperate for a sign of anything. A ship in the night, some land that I missed, another swimmer, anything!

“What do you want from me‽” I called out. There was no response.

 _‘If I don’t do something soon, I’m going to drown,’_ I told myself. _‘But maybe that’s for the best. Just get this over with.’_ I closed my eyes, unwilling to struggle anymore.

*******

My eyes opened and I shot up in bed, struggling for air. My skin felt so cold, like I’d been swimming in ice water. My throat felt a bit dry and my eyes still stung, but I could keep them open now. There didn’t seem to be any sand in them at least.

I took a moment to calm down, unsure of what to do first. I shoved my phone into my pocket and gathered some clothes, depositing them in the bathroom as I made my way to the kitchen. Each step felt like a chore with my lungs begging for air. “I need a shower,” I told my mom through the wheezing.

I took a puff of my inhaler first and then quickly poured myself a glass of ice water. It burned my lungs and sent even more shivers down my body, but my tongue and throat thanked me. I felt a little better, having solved one problem at least.

I poured myself another glass.

Then another.

Then drank half of a fourth before my thirst was finally sated.

I checked my phone for any responses from Jacob.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hope you have a restful sleep._

**_Claire:_ ** _I had a really bad nightmare._

_Oneirophobia said that my two stories were just an audition and he has more work for me._

_Then he tried to drown me._

_I really need a bath right now, sorry to hit you with this and vanish, but I am freezing._

If I trusted my motor skills more, I would have taken my phone with me and had a bath. But the last thing I needed was to drop my phone in the water. I dropped my phone off in my room and made it back to the bathroom, finally ready for my shower.

I stood outside, letting the water heat up first. Steam and warmth filled the rooms, and it felt like my bones were beginning to thaw. I took a deep breath, feeling the relief wash over me already. I sat in the bottom of the tub, letting the hot water fall like soothing rain.

It stung my arms a little, they were always sensitive thanks to my horrible self-harm problems, but I managed to handle it easily. They adjusted soon enough and I felt completely relaxed.

***

It’s hard to say what I thought about, sitting in the shower. Everything? Nothing? The exhaustion shrouded my heard in a blanket of blankness, a white shroud that left my memory distant and fuzzy. I cried though.

I cried and cried.

***

Dried off, warmed up, and wearing clean clothes, I was hoping for a fresh start. But the reality was, I was still gripped by exhaustion. Rather than reinvigoration, the shower had lulled me into a relaxed state of drowsiness. My body begged for sleep, but I feared it. I feared another confrontation with Oneirophobia.

_‘He never did get around to explaining his plans. I wonder what he wants with me. If it’s another horror story, I should start planning soon. I hope he doesn’t expect me to crank them out like clockwork. I’m screwed if he puts me on a schedule.’_

Fear the Nightmare Desert took everything I had. Not a drop of horror remained flowing through my creative veins. _‘Maybe I should watch some horror anime.’_

I let out a yawn as I stepped back into my room. My bed invited me to a moment of slumber, but I had to refuse. _‘I can’t sleep with Oneirophobia in control.’_ Of course, I would have to eventually.

My phone lit up and I lazily reached for it, expecting a text from Jacob.

My brain short circuited.

**_Brandon:_ ** _What the Hell is up with Bloodstained Nightingale?_


	18. Claire Oswin and the Open Wound

**Chapter 15**

**Claire Oswin and the Open Wound**

I stared at the Facebook message bubble, contemplating my options.

**_Claire:_ ** _You wouldn’t believe me if I told you._

**_Brandon:_ ** _I’m not in the mood for games, Claire._

**_Claire:_ ** _I’m serious. But fine._

_Why don’t we start with what -you- know?_

**_Brandon:_ ** _It was written by someone using the penname A.M. -Oswin- and it greatly resembles a story we wrote as children. I saw a used copy at a bookstore, but someone else picked it up before I could. I tried to find it online and there aren’t any copies anywhere._

**_Claire:_ ** _If you’re hoping for royalties don’t expect any from me. I have no idea who wrote that book. I was just as freaked out when I heard about it._

_Besides, if it isn’t available anywhere, the royalties probably aren’t worth much._

I probably shouldn’t have but I decided to investigate his profile. Hawaii is a small place, so we had some mutual friends, and honestly I’d felt the temptation before. But I always resisted, he wanted space so I’d respect that. But if he was the one coming back into my life after all this time, so be it. This was fair play.

What I gathered- he was gay. Very super gay! Tons of memes about being gay and being annoyed with straight people. He talked about his boyfriend a lot. _‘My boyfriend and I just had the best date ever at the amusement park.’_

We didn’t have a standard amusement park here on Maui. But once or twice a year the county fair or some other event would roll in, bringing with it rides and carnival games. One of my fondest memories was when Brandon and I went together as kids. It wasn’t a date, we were too young and still too naïve (or at least I was.) Our parents had to watch us of course, but we went on the rides alone.

I remember the Ferris Wheel rocking back and forth as we rode it, and I spontaneously developed a fear of heights that I’d never had before. I let go of the bar to cling to Brandon instead, I can still remember the warmth of his body in my arms. He put one arm around my shoulder and told me it would be okay.

I clicked on his photos next. He still looked hot as ever. All the intense childhood feelings rushed back, the burning face, twisted stomach, the desire to wrap myself in a hug with him for hours on end. He’d been working out still, and had some nice lean muscle. His once messy hair now looked refined and well combed like an adult who actually got his life together. There were a few pictures of him in a dress shirt with a tie and slacks, with captions mentioning work. Apparently he had an office job.

A few showed more casual at home looks, some even sporting facial scruff or a bit of a fuller beard. The look really suited him, but I guess he preferred to be clean shaven, as they were the minority.

There were also a few shirtless photos of him at a pool, wearing swim trunks. I almost screen capped those to save, just so I could see them again without having to visit his profile, but I still had some dignity and self-restraint.

**_Brandon:_ ** _Something about this is unsettling, are you sure you don’t know anything more?_

**_Claire:_ ** _It’s just a failed book that vanished off the face of the Earth because nobody was interested._

_Lots of things go missing all the time._

_Did you really contact me just for this‽_

**_Brandon:_ ** _Did you seriously take the time to copy and paste an interrobang?_

**_Claire:_ ** _No, I have one permanently saved to my clipboard._

_Is that really what you’re going to focus on‽_

**_Brandon:_ ** _Look, I wasn’t expecting to have you back in my life. Not ever. Not after the way you acted. But after this whole Bloodstained Nightingale thing I had to. And now I don’t know how to respond okay?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Fuck you Brandon._

_I’m sorry about the way I acted, but you were ignoring me when I needed you most._

_I loved you._

_You know that, right?_

**_Brandon:_ ** _It’s too late now, Claire. I have a boyfriend. I had a boyfriend. And you kept going on and on about how much I meant to you. How much you missed me. It was too much._

**_Claire:_ ** _I needed to get it all out. To make sure you understood. To make sure I could understand it all!_

_But you’re right. It’s too late._

_I would have gladly remained just friends with you if you had let me. But you wouldn’t give me even that. And now it’s too late._

_Cue the Gotye.._

_It doesn’t matter what we used to have, we’re nothing to each other now!._

_So forget about that stupid book, vanish completely all over again, and just leave me alone._

_I cannot deal with you right now. I have too much of my own to worry about._

My phone lit up, but I set it down. I wasn’t ready to read his next message. Fingers trembling I reached for the Nightingales tablet on my shelf. _‘How was this story supposed to end? Did Clara and Bradley defeat the forces of evil together? Wait, of course they were supposed to. I wasn’t that grimdark and edgy as a child. Then again I did kill off Heather.’_

I remembered now, there was a girl. I couldn’t recall her name but she was really good at soccer. She and Brandon got very close, and I was jealous. How ironic in the end, that I blew up over nothing.

_“Why’d you kill Heather?”_

_“I didn’t like her.”_

_“I think it was mean to kill her off, so I’m bringing her back to life.”_

I grabbed my phone.

**_Brandon:_ ** _I’m sorry I cut you out of my life that way. It was hard. I’d just come out of the closet and gotten a boyfriend and my old crush pops up out of nowhere. It was a lot for me to deal with. You were the first person I ever loved, you know?_

**_Claire:_ ** _I’m sorry I tried to kill off Heather in Nightingales._

**_Brandon:_ ** _In what now?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Nightingales. Our story. Heather was the name of the dancer they met near the end. She and Bradley got close and I got jealous so I killed her off._

_You brought her back to life, remember?_

**_Brandon:_ ** _Sorry, I don’t remember that part at all._

_So you named the story Nightingales? How come?_

**_Claire:_ ** _I honestly don’t remember. It’s been way too long._

_We didn’t name it together?_

**_Brandon:_ ** _It was nameless when I left._

_Well, I think I should get going soon. But if you remember anything else, let me know. Something about this is really bugging me in a way I can’t figure out._

**_Claire:_ ** _Maybe you just read too many Lost Media creepypastas? You always did like scary stories when we were kids._

_But it doesn’t amount to anything, so don’t bother wasting your time. Like I said, stuff vanishes all the time. Old forgotten games, worthless books, old TV shows._

It was a bluff and a lie, but I hoped it would keep him safe. I already doomed Jacob, I didn’t want to risk getting Brandon caught up in Oneirophobia’s twisted schemes.

**_Brandon:_ ** _Wait, that’s it. That’s what’s bugging me. Catscratch Haven._

**_Claire:_ ** _Okay, how the fuck do you know about Catscratch Haven‽_

I’d only come up with the concept recently, completely from (cat)scratch. There’s no way he could have known about it, unless it was some coincidence.

**_Brandon:_ ** _The kid’s cartoon? My friend used to be a fan of it when she was little. Well, maybe not a fan, Apparently it came on before her favorite cartoon so she would sit through it all the time. She was telling me about it the other day. What’s so strange about that?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Sorry, title must be a coincidence. I have a story named Catscratch Haven that I’m trying to write. It’s about a girl who gets isekai’d to a land of magic and teams up with friends to help a princess fight off an evil coup from her wicked uncle._

**_Brandon:_ ** _Claire? That sounds -exactly- like the cartoon my friend watched. Are you sure you didn’t watch it as a kid and subconsciously pick up on some of the details?_

**_Claire:_ ** _I, I don’t think so. I don’t have any memories of this at all! What’s the cartoon like?_

I felt my heart sink. I’d been working hard on that story for ages. Had I really subconsciously copied it from another source? Had Oneirophobia done this somehow? Slipping memories and thoughts of some twisted children’s show into my head just to screw with me? What was his plan? Leave me depressed and vulnerable? Okay, maybe not that ridiculous in hindsight.

**_Claire:_ ** _It might have some similarities, but my idea was pretty dark. I doubt it would have been a children’s cartoon._

**_Brandon:_ ** _She did say it was messed up. But the weirdest part? The main character was named Clarissa and her love interest was named Bradford. It was an unrequited love though. The names kind of reminded me of us, but I ignored it for the most part, since it seemed like such a small coincidence. Especially considering that Bradford was straight._

_But those names are a lot like ours, so now I just feel weirded out._

Long ago I discovered that Brandon was dating someone named Sam. I didn’t know Sam’s gender and I didn’t feel like checking. But there was a part of me that, over time, suspected he was gay. I nearly made Bradford gay, with his canon love interest being Prince Theo, but I decided against it. Having a girl agonize over a gay guy felt less sympathetic and it reduced the cathartic angst factor quite a bit for me.

But none of that mattered now. Brandon told me about the cartoon his friend watched. Every episode, every plot twist, all aligned with the story I wanted to write. (Well, technically it was the story I planned to write. I actually _wanted_ this to be a cartoon.)

**_Claire:_ ** _Give me a minute._

I sent him a link to a Google Word document I hadn’t edited in ages. It contained all my plans for _Catscratch Haven,_ matching Brandon’s description detail for detail. My heart palpitated as I waited for an answer, so I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, setting my tablet down on the kitchen table.

**_Brandon:_ ** _Is this some sort of prank? You’re pretending you wrote this, right?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Why would I write out a summary of a children’s cartoon in language describing it as a book I plan to write?_

I looked over some of the notes, where I’d listed multiple ideas. _‘Margaret transforms into a monster. Possibly scorpion based? Maybe a vulture would work? Scorpions sound scarier though.’_ What point would I possibly have to writing my notes like _that_ if I was just copying an old cartoon.

**_Claire:_ ** _And don’t say it was to sell the prank. What are the chances of me coming across someone who watched an old cartoon that isn’t mentioned anywhere on the internet?_

**_Brandon:_ ** _Maybe you wrote this just now and messed with the date of your last edit?_

**_Claire:_ ** _Fine, don’t believe me._

**_Brandon:_ ** _I’m sorry, this is just a bit much to take in, okay?_

_But then what the Hell does this mean? It’s like horror story level reality bending._

**_Claire:_ ** _Do you believe in horror stories?_

**_Brandon:_ ** _I don’t know, I just might._

I sat down, drinking more water. This was too much to figure out and my head felt like it had been split by an axe. I had no idea how he’d respond to the truth and I only had one chance to get him to listen. Then he might be gone forever.

_‘Not like that’s much of a change from ten minutes ago.’_

**_Claire:_ ** _I think I’m cursed._

_I know it sounds absurd but I have no idea what’s going on._

_I had a nightmare about a demon king and ever since then strange things have been happening._

_My best friend Jacob works in a library. A few days ago, a young boy named Brandon showed up looking for Bloodstained Nightingale. The strangest part is, he has a scar on his leg, just like yours. He says that the book needs to be read or else the world might end._

_Other weird things have been happening. Library books getting torn, scorpions keep attacking, and I had a nightmare where I almost drowned. I don’t know what’s going on._

_I want this all to be a trick, but I don’t know what’s going on._

I waited for a reply that didn’t come. Brandon logged off soon after. I brought the glass to my lips. My hand shook and I accidentally splashed spilled water down my shirt. I moaned as I grabbed a paper towel to dry myself, but in the stress of it all, I gripped the glass too tight, shattering it in my hand.

I let out a yelp as the broken glass cut into my palm, and I let out a whimper as my blood dripped onto the tablet below.


	19. Brandon Michaels and the Cost of Believing

**Chapter 16**

**Brandon Michaels and the Cost of Believing**

“Who does she think she is?” I swore to myself as I paced around the room, my whole body tensing up. My fists wanted to punch something, so I took a deep calming breath instead, trying to forget my anger. _‘What kind of story was she trying to feed me?’_ I was alone in the apartment that my boyfriend and I shared with our two other roommates, Jackson and Martin. They were all out at the moment, probably for the best.

I didn’t want anyone to see me this distraught, especially not Sam.

I opened a window, hoping to let some cool air in, but the November winds were strangely warm. I peeled off my shirt and tossed it onto my bed. It was a small room, even with the four of us we couldn’t afford much, but it got the job done. Sam and I had a Full Size bed, a bit on the shorter side but we made it work, a TV that we used more for video games than any actual television watching (we preferred Netflix and Hulu, honestly), and some curtains for privacy.

Don’t want any peeping toms when we’re cuddling or anything.

We lived on the third floor, but there wasn’t much of a view. Outside this window all you could see were more apartment buildings and the parking lot between us. I sat in bed, hands behind my head, wondering what to do. Never thought I’d lament a day off from work, that’s for sure. For better or worse, this was a naturally occurring day off, unlike the time we had that infestation days ago. A thought struck me.

 _‘Claire did mention scorpion attacks. And our office was suddenly infested.’_ But I shook my head. Now I was starting to be ridiculous. Claire was probably making this up to screw with me. Or maybe she really did believe it. She was terrified of everything as a child, what if she never outgrew that? What if she needed genuine help?

I bit my lip. I felt bad for her, but I couldn’t make her my responsibility. I needed to take care of myself, and if that meant moving on and cutting off loose ends, then so be it. They say all good stories have a beginning, middle, and an end, but I guess not all stories are good. Some are better off dropped half way when you realize the pieces aren’t fitting together the way you thought, and the tale you thought was a fantasy is actually a tragedy waiting to happen.

And Claire and I are probably the biggest tragedy of all.

So no, there’d be no follow ups. Maybe this time I’d out right block her and delete all our old messages, out of sight and out of mind as they say. Go for an even cleaner break.

I groaned, realizing I had no idea what I wanted. I never intended to cut her out forever. Just until things felt less awkward on my end. I’d figured it would give her some time to calm down too.

 _‘This is getting out of hand.’_ I’d written. _‘You’re getting way too emotional. I think I need some space. Please don’t contact me again for now. When I’m ready to talk, I’ll let you know.’_

But after a few days passed, I figured it wasn’t enough. After some weeks I wasn’t sure. Then some months had gone by and I found myself still feeling uncertain. Once a year had passed I told myself it was too late to go back, and she’d probably moved on anyway. I stopped rereading our arguments, and I didn’t even notice when she changed her name to Claire.

I closed my eyes, trying to forget it all. I inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of a bedsheet soaked in the sweat of two men who liked to cuddle. _‘Maybe I should do the laundry to pass the time.’_ But nah, Sam and the others were supposed to be back from grocery shopping in half an hour or so. I wanted to be here to help them. It was a sudden trip and I normally would have gone with them, but I really wanted to deal with this Claire business while they were out, so I told them I had some stuff to take care of.

Oh God, here I was, secretly contacting my ex crush behind my boyfriend’s back. This felt like emotional infidelity. _‘I’ll tell him. It’s not like I actually did anything wrong. I was just embarrassed.’_

I heard a knock and turned to my door. There shouldn’t have been anyone home. And there was certainly nobody there, the door was wide open. I heard it again, but with more focus to devote I realized it was coming from the other direction- the window not the door. The window on the third floor.

 _‘It’s probably just a bird,’_ I told myself.

Of course it was a bird! What else would it be‽ Had contact with Claire reignited my child like imagination? I turned my head, fully confident that I’d see an ordinary old bird and this five second ordeal was an ordinary event with no supernatural elements to it.

But my shoulders tensed as I turned to look and I felt my heart skip a beat. I heard it again, that _tap, tap, tap._ If God is real, they’ve sure got a sense of irony. Sitting in my windowsill, amidst the billowing curtains, tapping away at the frame of my window, was an owl.

 **Pros-** Owls are perfectly natural. Sure they’re nocturnal and don’t usually come out during the day, but’s it isn’t unheard of.

 **Cons-** They’re Claire’s ‘aumākua. Like, I’m pretty sure that owls are supposed to be her magical guardians or something, so seeing one now was really weird.

It stopped tapping and stared me in the eyes. _‘Oh dear lord, what if it wants to attack me for hurting Claire?’_

On second thought, I think only Pueo were supposed to be ‘aumākua. Those are endemic to Hawaii so this is probably an entirely different species of owl. Unless it flew all the way to the mainland just to harass me.

It hopped through the open window and landed on the floor. Still unsure of the creature’s intentions, I decided to snap a picture on my phone. Because what else are you supposed to do when an owl comes to visit?

I tried to remember what I could about ‘aumākua.

_They were a person’s ancestors made into a God. They could take the form of an animal or an object, and that specific thing would be your ‘aumākua, that one mouse, or owl, or eel. But all members of that species were to be respected._

I looked around for a broom or something I could shoo it away with. It was just a bird, not the great-great-great-great grandparent of my ex-best friend, so really what harm could it bring. I grabbed my umbrella from the corner of the room and poked at the owl. It hopped and screeched, dodging each of my attempts to scare it away. It kept its gaze fixed on me, as if demanding something from me. “Go away,” I commanded.

The owl hooted as it flew toward my face. I dropped my umbrella and tried to shield myself, but it landed at my feet, staring up at me. “What do you want‽” I asked, acutely aware that an owl could not actually answer me.

Oh dear God I hoped it could not answer me.

Whether by chance or by conscious choice, the owl hopped over to my bed and pecked at my phone. It would peck, turn to me for a second, and then peck again. “Do you want me to contact her?” I asked, throwing my hands up in the air. Great, I was negotiating with a _bird_.

Picking up my phone I let out a sigh as I opened the messenger app again.

**_Brandon:_ ** _Don’t be ridiculous Claire, curses aren’t real. Whatever bad stuff is happening in your life isn’t because of some curse. Nightmares are just nightmares, not evil forces trying to ruin your life. I admit a kid named Brandon with the same scar as me is a bit weird, but it’s a common name and scars aren’t that unusual. It’s just a coincidence._

_Calm down. It might all be scary, but everything will be okay. I promise you._

I felt a little hypocritical seeing as I had just acted on the possibility that the owl in my room was basically an agent of a supernatural force.

**_Claire:_ ** _I said you wouldn’t believe me._

I turned to look for the owl. “There, are you happy now?” I asked. But the owl had vanished, leaving my room empty. Stirs of a headache attacked my brain and I let out a grunt as peeked out the window. _‘This day can’t get any weirder I thought.’_ I scanned the skies for any signs of the owl, but it flew to fast. I even checked the ground, to see if it landed, but I only saw a Rottweiler roaming the parking lot.

_‘Must be lost. Hope its owner finds it and no kids get hurt.’_

I turned my attention back to Claire, trying to figure out how to break through to her. _‘Vanishing books, disappearing owls, mysterious children, scorpion attacks,’_ that was a _lot_ to explain. _‘And what even is going on with Catscratch Haven‽ I **can’t** figure that one out at all.’_

**_Brandon:_ ** _Claire, I admit this is all a lot to take in. I’m trying to rationalize it myself and I can’t. For the love of God this makes no sense. I’m trying to sort this out this but my brain won’t take me anywhere. It’s like trying to wander through a maze, only the walls are invisible._

_I just had an OWL of all things show up in my apartment. It pecked at my phone and then vanished when I turned away for a second. I want to help you, I really do, but I don’t know what’s going on._

**_Claire:_ ** _Don’t worry about me. I didn’t tell you this asking for your help, remember?_

_You came to me with questions. I gave you answers._

**_Brandon:_ ** _You’re right. I’m sorry, but you seem to be really taking this hard._

When my phone lit up again I expected Claire’s reply, but it was a text from my boyfriend Sam. He and the others were on their way back, so I told them I’d help with the groceries. I considered getting dressed first, but it’s not like any of the neighbors around here haven’t seen a shirtless dude before. I locked up and stowed my keys in my jeans pocket.

I passed a few neighbors on my way down, nobody seemed to mind, and I took the stairs because I wasn’t in the mood to wait for the elevator. I kept checking my phone, waiting for Claire’s response. I know, I should have paid more attention while walking down the stairs, especially with an alleged demon curse attacking people, but I made it down just fine.

Our apartment complex wasn’t a very nice place. Weeds poked through the cracks in the parking lot. Passersby and careless residents alike tossed their trash everywhere. I stepped over an empty soda can as I walked up to the sidewalk, staring down the road for signs of my friends. The Rottweiler from before sniffed the air as it approached me. I bent over to try to pet it, it looked friendly enough, but it simply ignored me.

I heard a few cars zoom by as I waited for a response, but Claire seemed to be taking her time. I let out a sigh as I slipped my phone into my pocket, next to my keys. I crouched there, feeling the hot sun baking my bare skin.

The dog circled around the parking lot, almost aimlessly. I couldn’t tell what it wanted. Food? Sorry bud, you’re not finding any of that here. It looked kind of cute, so I recorded a quick video to post online later, then snapped a few photos.

I whistled a little tune to myself as I kept one eye on the dog and the other on the road. Then I saw Jackson, in the driver’s seat of his old car. It was a bit rusty, a hand me down from his father, but it got the job done. I usually offered to let him drive my car, but he said it was better for insurance purposes if he took his own. Sam and Martin didn’t have driver’s licenses, so it was usually Jackson or me driving us everywhere.

Martin rode shotgun, holding a bag of groceries in his lap. I saw Sam in the backseat and tried to wave for his attention, but he was engrossed in his phone. I pulled out my own cellphone, eager to send him a text.

**_Brandon:_ ** _I see you._

Then I saw the Rottweiler in the middle of the road, having somehow slipped past me. I saw my roommate panic, his eyes and mouth widening in terror as he hit the brakes. A screech filled the air as the car came grinding to a halt. I let out a sigh of relief as the dog scampered away unharmed and my roommate wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

Then another car crashed into them from behind, sending the car spinning out of control. The bumper flew off and clattered onto the street as they hit the curb and launched into a tree growing on the other side of the road. I heard glass shatter and saw the hood of the car crumple as the airbags deployed. I looked both ways before crossing. The other car sped off without stopping to help. I wanted to get their license plate number, but they were moving too fast for me to grab my phone.

The Rottweiler had vanished.

I dashed across the street, already dialing 911. “Hello, I need to report a car accident. My friends were just hit.” I gave them the address as I helped my friends out of the car one by one. Jackson made it out first, stumbling from the car. I tried to help him steady.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “I called the ambulance, they’re on their way.”

“Nothing deadly,” he said, letting out a moan of pain. “But I think I’ll let the doctors decide if I’m okay.”

Martin climbed out of the passenger door. He struggled to catch his breath, hyperventilating like he’d just run a marathon. Not that I blame him, I wasn’t even in the crash and I’d nearly pissed my pants. Runny egg yolks plastered broken bits of eggshells to his shirt, his glasses were broken and half hanging from his face, and he held his arm at an odd angle. I felt terrible for him, but I immediately turned my attention to the back seat.

Sam struggled with the door, but finally got it open. I let out a breath of relief. “I think I sprained my ankle and the seatbelt is probably going to leave a bruise, but I think I’ll be fine.” I wanted to hug him tight, but the risk of hurting him stopped that. “What happened?” He asked Jackson.

“There-there was a dog. At least, I think there was a dog. I swear I saw a dog on the road so I hit the brakes. But when I looked up there wasn’t any dog. But I swear it was there!” He looked at everyone pleadingly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

“I saw it too,” I assured him. There definitely was a dog on the road.” I opened my gallery and showed them all the video I recorded. “It was hanging out in the parking lot before it jumped out suddenly. It was really strange.”

“I guess Rottweilers are just a bad omen for you, huh?” Sam tried to lighten the mood with humor, but I could see him wince in pain.

“I’ll wait with you all until the ambulance gets here, then I’m going to get changed and drive to the emergency room to wait for you all. Does that sound good?”

Everybody nodded and grunted their approval with as much enthusiasm as they could muster. It was exactly the amount of enthusiasm you’d expect from a bunch of people who just escaped a car accident.

“Well, maybe you should try to salvage what you can of our grocery trip. The eggs are a mess but the meat should be fine,” said Jackson.

I saw my phone light up with a message from Claire.

**_Claire:_ ** _I do appreciate that you care about me, at least. Even if we haven’t been friends for years._

**_Brandon:_ ** _Hey Claire, I hope your day doesn’t get any weirder. If it does, feel free to message me, but please don’t be worried if I take some time to reply back. Got a bit of a minor emergency here. Boyfriend and roommates hit a tree on the way home from grocery shopping._

_They’re all moving around just fine so I assume none of them were seriously injured, but they’re all going to the emergency room just in case._

My boyfriend’s joke echoed in my mind. _‘I wonder how Claire would react if I told her that a Rottweiler caused this?’_


	20. The Tears of Claire Oswin

**Chapter 17**

**The Tears of Claire Oswin**

It was hard, operating my phone with one hand. Especially since it was my non dominant hand. But the cut still stung if I tried to move my fingers. Luckily my mother heard the noise and came to help with the first aid. She helped me pull out the shards of glass stuck to my palm and poured some peroxide over the wound. It stung like Hell but it was better than getting an infection. My hand was bandaged up right now, and that helped ease the pain a little, but it made a lot of things annoying.

So I crawled into bed, tired but refusing to sleep, and let out a growl of frustration. “I can’t write so well with one hand asshole!” Obviously my phone had a voice to text feature, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with that either.

It had been a couple of minutes since then and Brandon had finally replied. After a bit of arguing, he left me with an ominous message, telling me that his boyfriend and roommates were in the emergency room.

_‘Had I done that to them? Had my curse lashed out and hurt the people Brandon cared about.’_

If his boyfriend and friends were hurt because of me, I’d never forgive myself. Sure I felt a twinge of jealousy, resentment, confusion, and a cocktail of regrets, but I wanted him to be happy. And I never wanted to hurt someone else.

 _‘Growing up I spent so much time thinking ‘I bet that if I was a girl, Brandon and I would be boyfriend and girlfriend. The irony is I was and am a girl, but he’s gay.’_ It was web of tangled emotions far too difficult for me to navigate. A complex situation I doubt any cis person could even _begin_ to comprehend.

And I couldn’t break away.

Even when I should probably be focused on other things.

Like my battle with this demon.

 _‘Maybe I should stop resisting. He’s dangerous, he’s already proven he’s willing to hurt others. What if he goes after my mom next?’_ I wanted to cry, but I’d gone numb.

**_Claire:_ ** _I’m sorry._

**_Brandon:_ ** _Don’t say that Claire. Whatever is going on isn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself._

**_Claire:_ ** _No, I meant ‘that is a tragic event and I am offering my condolences.’_

**_Brandon:_ ** _Oh.  
My bad._

But it was a bluff. I’d meant it exactly the way he thought. Because I couldn’t slice or dice this situation in any way that left me innocent. I’d wanted to save myself and now I brought harm to everyone else around me. And it still wasn’t enough to be a deal breaker on further services to Oneirophobia. In the end he’d ask me for the world on a silver platter and I’d ask that classic question, ‘medium or well done?’

I’ve always been a coward, hiding behind others. When that dog attacked, I let Brandon save me. Except now the threat was a lot bigger than a dog and I couldn’t escape by hiding behind him. Not that he’d want to protect me this time.

*******

About an hour had passed since Brandon’s last message. I hadn’t responded. Didn’t know how to. I had a reply from Jacob too.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Take all the time for yourself that you need. I’ll be here when you need me._

I didn’t know what to say to him either. _‘What the Hell do I do? Maybe I should go to church. Maybe they can do some sort of holy exorcism. But what if they don’t believe me? What if they’re not strong enough and Oneirophobia gets even madder?’_

**_Claire:_ ** _Hey Jacob, sorry for taking so long. I’ve just been dealing with kind of a lot._

**_Claire:_ ** _Hey Brandon, hope everything is going okay and your boyfriend and roommates are doing fine._

I sent both messages at the same time, feeling a sense of helplessness. In the face of reality warping danger, simple pleasantries and greetings felt ineffective and borderline repugnant. But what else could I do‽

I tried to look at my phone, but my eyes burned. My brain pounded against my skull, begging me to get some rest. I tried to stand up, but my entire body felt so distant. Like I was an amateur puppeteer trying to steer a marionette with only the vaguest grasp of how all the strings worked. I felt unreal, distant, faded. Navigating my way to the kitchen, I nearly fell over in the hall. Twice I had to catch myself on the wall.

I reached for the cupboard with all the drinking glasses and pulled on the handle. For a second I struggled to remove my hand, barely able to remember how fingers worked. They were stuck there as I tried to let go, but they just wouldn’t budge. After a few seconds of trying I finally managed to pry them away.

Some victories are too small to celebrate.

I tried to grab the pitcher of ice water from the fridge, a surprisingly difficult task on even the best days. It was designed with an odd center of gravity, holding it by the handle would cause it to tilt and spill all some water unless you struggled to hold it up. Pain flared in my wrist and I almost dropped it. I splashed some water onto the floor but managed to tilt it back quickly enough.

I sighed, knowing that I would have trouble pouring myself a glass of water in this state. I was tired, hurt, and weak. A barely functioning mess. I felt hopeless. How could I possibly fight back like this‽

Holding the pitcher with one hand and steadying it with the other, I poured myself a glass of water. I grabbed a plastic straw from the cupboard to drink it with. I did not want another glass shattering in my hand and I did not want it to slip from my weakened grip.

With a humiliating amount of effort I returned the pitcher to the fridge. 

I grabbed my phone, hoping to relax with some YouTube music. But when I swiped away my lock screen, I found myself in my AO3 inbox, with a handful of new comments. I’d been avoiding these, fearing the harm I might have brought to others. But apparently there was something here that a certain someone wanted me to see.

I braced myself for the worst, and dove right in.

_Wow, that sounds like a creepy game._

_Man, I feel so bad for that kid. I understand wanting to play your new game. It isn’t their fault everyone died. It was a perfectly reasonable wish._

_Oh I loved the Monkey’s Paw reference._

_I don’t normally leave comments on stories, but something made me feel compelled to. This didn’t scare me in a traditional sense, but the game did unnerve me a bit. I’ve always loved stories about corrupted wishes, and all their wishes were corrupted pretty well. But the fact that they were all video game characters kind of lessens the impact, though it was cool seeing the birthday kid’s wish getting corrupted as well._

Compelled? Well I was getting more comments than usual. I wouldn’t be too surprised to learn Oneirophobia was compelling people to read my stories and leave comments. But why‽ Did the high number of comments serve as bait for more readers‽

A thousand questions swam through my head, each one emphasized with its own interrobang.

_Oh I noticed that one of the NPCs has the same name as your friend from **I had a Horrifyingly Bizarre Dream the Other Day.** Is that significant in anyway? Or are you just fond of the name Jacob?_

I choked on air, immediately clicking through to the story to check for myself. I noticed the content warnings were missing, just as I predicted. More horrifying, the text had been altered.

 _“His on screen text box told me his name was Jacob. “Are you lost in the Nightmare Desert too?”_ I dug my nails into my palms, the sudden shock reminding me of the injury I’d forgotten. _‘What the hell is Oneirophobia doing‽ What’s he gain from this‽’_ I wished I had some easier way to contact him, like an AO3 account of his own I could message, sending him all my questions alongside the pages of interrobangs I wanted to throw at him.

The NPC Jacob was not an old man like in my original story. Here he was younger, and told a new tale of heart break. _“I had a friend once, who was very kind to others. She did her best to make the people around her smile. She never wanted others to feel the pain she had felt. You see, as a child, she had fallen in love with her friend, and loved him with all her life._

_“But as they grew older, he slipped away from her as sand slips through your fingers. He fell for another, and threw her away like trash. She’s never been able to move on. I’ve never once seen her smile in the time I’ve known her. I tried to tell her to cheer up, that there are better men in the world. But she only ever wanted him._

_“I wanted to help her, however I could._

_“I met a man in a black coat and top hat, calling himself Simon. He offered to grant my wish. ‘Your friend’s heart will never ache for that man again. All I ask is that you give this to your friend.’ He handed me a silver heart shaped locket. I assumed it was some magical object that would ease her pain._

_“I called her, asking to meet up the next day. I waited in the park for hours, but she never came. The day after I received a call from her mother. My friend was in an accident, struck by a car on her way to see me. She survived, but the driver swerved into oncoming traffic and died. My friend woke up with amnesia. She didn’t even know her name._

_“The driver who hit her turned out to be the man she once loved. Now she will never know him and never feel any hurt for him every again.”_

The rest of the tale continued as before, with the player handing over the heart, only for their on screen character to die of a heart attack. I felt the bile rising in my throat, seeing a twisted version of my story written out like this.

I skimmed through to see what other edits my demonic co-author had penned.

The framing device with the kid’s birthday party remained untouched, and the descriptions of the desert and scorpions remained intact. But the next alterations I spotted were to the item list. Missing Voice was now Restrained Voice. And Cooked Rabbit was now the more ambiguous Cooked Meat.

Scrolling further I found that Maria was now Brandon.

_“It’s funny, you know. They say you always regret the things you didn’t do far more than anything wrong you ever did. For a while I thought that was true. You see, there was someone I used to love. A close friend of mine. She loved me very much._

_“I loved her too, but we were both too young to figure this out. We had our own personal issues, and operating under the misunderstanding that we were both boys did not help matters. As time went on we grew older and drifted apart. I found someone new. He and I loved each other very much._

_“One day that girl reappeared in my life, finally confessing her feelings. She opened up to me and I saw her soul, pouring out like a wild river. Holding nothing back, she explained that I meant more than the world to her. Unsure of what to do, I ran, and never saw her again. For years I wondered what would happen if I could tell her how I felt._

_“A man in a top hat and cloak appeared before me. He offered to grant my wish, to deliver my words to the girl I once loved. So I agreed. He had me write a letter, promising to deliver it._

**_“I know it has been years since we have spoken, but I hope this letter finds you well. I am sorry that I ran, but I was afraid to face my feelings. I loved you, once upon a time. But I moved on long ago. I can only pray you’ve done the same. If you’d like, we could be friends. I’m sure you’d get along great with my boyfriend if you ever met him. He reminds me of you._ **

_“That girl killed herself. I heard that her suicide note mentioned me by name, but I’ve never seen it. I can only guess the ways my words compelled her to act.”_

In the story, the player decided to hand over the Restrained Voice, and despite suspicions that it might make Brandon unhappy, they handed it over, wanting to complete the game.

_‘Is this her suicide note? How did you get it‽ Why are you showing this to me?’_

Brandon tore the note in half, and the player character dropped dead, her body cleaved at the waist. I couldn’t decide if this was better or worse than having her face torn off.

Okay admittedly the image of Maria wearing the woman’s face was one of my favorite things I’d come up with for the original. I’d honestly be a little pissed at Oneirophobia for taking that out if he weren’t so God damned sinister!

Wendy was gone, just as I suspected. In her place stood Claire. A twisted digital clone of me.

_“You know that expression ‘Be careful what you wish for?’ I think I’ve had that engraved in my heart. No, not my heart. The empty chest cavity where my heart should have been. You see, I was once in love with this man.”_

Out of context this must have looked strange, three tales of heartbreak, of women falling for men and bringing suffering to everyone. But to me it felt visceral. Two stories of my own tragic love life meeting a worse fate than I could have ever imagined. I could already guess how the third would go.

_“We fell in love and thought we would be together forever. But time took him away from me, and Aphrodite’s cruel whims bonded him to another. With a new love in his life, he no longer had room for me. Though mere friendship would have brought elation, he would not grant me even this._

_“Years passed, the seasons ticking away. Each beat of my heart felt like a step closer to death. I felt no joy, nor sorrow, only the emptiness of longing. My memories of his face grew dim and grainy. I feared I would soon forget him altogether._

_“So when I was offered a wish, I agreed. The man in the coat and top hat said he would give me everything I ever wanted. I would see him again and his face would forever be engraved in my memory. I’d never forget him again. I thanked the man._

_“That night as I watched TV, I saw a live news report of a fire. Flames danced in the night as they engulfed a wooden house. I saw the roof cave in as fire fighters rushed inside to rescue the residents. They were able to save a man and a woman along with their pet cat. I gasped recognizing these two instantly, they were the parents of the man I once loved._

_“Turning to a firefighter they explained that their son had come to visit. He was still inside. They begged their rescuers to save him._

_“I could feel my heart caving in like the roof of that burning house._

_“They brought him out on a gurney. His body was charred to a crisp in several places, I could tell he had zero hope of survival. But I recognized his face. That image burned itself into my mind. I see it every night when I close my eyes.”_

The rest of the scene played out similarly, only this time it wasn’t a rabbit the woman dropped. It was a decapitated head, covered in burn marks. It burst into flames, and set the young woman ablaze. I could picture her burning body in my head as she turned to ash on the page.

I power walked to the bathroom as fast as I could, but my legs went weak. Without the strength to stand I sank to the floor, vomiting all over myself. The warm puke dripped down my front and onto my legs. I felt dirty and contaminated. The thought of Brandon’s charred body flashed in my mind as my stomach twisted around itself. I dry heaved, immense pain tearing through my body.

My eyes stung, my shoulders ached as I lurched forward, and my throat burned.

***

I took another shower, and cleaned my mess with a dirty towel. It was annoying to have to go through so many sets of clothes in one day, but it was better than wallowing in my own vomit. I checked my phone and saw more messages from Brandon.

**_Brandon:_ ** _I’m at the emergency room right now, the doctors said it didn’t look too bad, but I have to wait outside. They said things shouldn’t take too long._

I smiled at that small mercy.

**_Brandon:_ ** _Okay, I’ll read it in a second, not like I have much else to do._

_Okay wow, that really is a creepy story. I’m sorry you were that sick. And you think this Oneirophobia guy is what’s causing all our problems?_

I screencapped our conversation on my end and sent it to him.

**_Claire:_ ** _Brandon? Did you just read my story on AO3?_

**_Brandon:_ ** _Yeah.  
Wait, you didn’t send me that link?_

In reply, he screencapped things from my end. There were messages, ostensibly from me, including a link to my AO3 story.

**_Claire:_ ** _I’m going to send you a story I wrote. It’s about a nightmare I had. I believe it’s when Oneirophobia first came into contact with me.  
As far as I can tell, you’re already cursed, so reading it shouldn’t cause you any more problems._

***

Maybe I should have started a group chat. That might have made things easier. But instead I chose to keep conversations with the two guys separate. I caught Jacob up to speed about things with Brandon, and told Brandon to be careful from now on.

**_Jacob:_ ** _So, other than the demon curse, how is it talking to Brandon again? You okay? Like emotionally I mean?_

**_Brandon:_ ** _Not remotely.  
But what else am I supposed to do?   
Oneirophobia is too powerful. I don’t know how we can stop him. We’re just a bunch of ordinary people. What can we do against a demon king?_

**_Jacob:_ ** _Maybe Bloodstained Nightingale is the key? It’s about fighting monsters. That kid did say it was necessary to stop the end of the world._

**_Claire:_ ** _But how are we going to find it? It’s a mystery book that isn’t anywhere on the internet.  
And the one time someone did find a copy, it ran away._

**_Jacob:_ ** _Okay, maybe we don’t need Bloodstained Nightingale. We have the original. Maybe there’s a clue in there._

**_Claire:_ ** _Maybe._

But I’d read the book, it was just some kid’s story. There was no secret technique for fighting monsters. No rituals of protection. No advice. The heroes just hit the bad guys over and over, solving all their problems with superior might. What was I supposed to do. Conk Oneirophobia on the head‽

I reclined on my couch. It was comfortable, but I had problems sleeping upright. Once on a long flight to the mainland I couldn’t get any rest at all. I was thrilled to make it to the hotel room for a good midday nap. Hopefully this couch could keep me up.

Brandon kept me updated as he waited for his friends. Eventually he sent me the good news.

**_Brandon:_ ** _They’re okay. Some minor sprains and fractures here and there, but no serious damage. I thought one of my friends broke his arm, but it was just in a lot of pain, so that’s a relief. They’ll all recover good as new with time._

**_Claire:_ ** _That’s great to hear._

**_Brandon:_ ** _I don’t think I’m going to tell them about Oneirophobia just yet. It’s a lot to believe. But I’ll keep an eye out for them to make sure nothing else bad happens. And you be safe too, Claire._

_I do care about you._

**Chapter 18**


	21. Jacob Hart and the Oswin Secret

**Chapter 18**

**Jacob Hart and the Oswin Secret**

I strolled through the mall in the cool evening air, hoping for a chance to clear my head a little. This whole deal with Oneirophobia was getting to me. It was hard to believe a nightmare could do real world harm to people, but the evidence piled up way too quickly. _‘Do I tell Rebecca? She’s kind of caught up in this as is, but I don’t want to freak her out or put her in harm’s way.’_ Harriet would probably be fine, I hoped.

The ground here was old and gray, almost dirty looking. And the buildings had chipped and faded paint. Some of the white was starting to yellow, and many of the painted on shop names had letters peeling away.

There really wasn’t much to buy here, so I did most of my shopping online. We don’t even have a good video game store, it can be such a bore in this city. But I had more than just window shopping in mind. My stomach growled as I neared one of my favorite restaurants. It wasn’t a fancy place, nowhere I’d bring a potential boyfriend on a date or anything, but the food tastes great. And really, isn’t that what matters?

It was one of those places like a garage, with a front wall that could be raised or lowered. Inside were rows of tables, currently all empty. Apparently I’d missed the dinner rush. I ordered a BBQ Steak and Chicken combo and sat down waiting for my order. The counter worker smiled at me, but I could tell she was exhausted from a long day of work, so I left a larger tip than I usually would. (Not that they aren’t generous by default.)

As I sat down, my phone lit up. I rushed to check it, nearly dropping it on the ground. I managed to fumble for it and caught it in my hands. I worriedly checked, hoping everything was fine with Claire. But it was a text from Rebecca from the library.

**_Rebecca:_ ** _Okay this is really weird. Remember those books that got torn up? The Clementine’s Guide to Birds and those other two library books that weren’t actually in our system. I tried to buy some replacement copies, but I couldn’t find them anywhere. Not on any book store website or on Amazon, or any other shop._

_It’s like they don’t exist. So I guess Bloodstained Nightingale isn’t the only phantom book around. And get this. We haven’t thrown out the trash yet, because it was still pretty empty so there wasn’t a real need. I got curious and tried digging through the garbage for those books, so I could look up more information about them. But they’re missing._

**_Jacob:_ ** _That’s really weird. I honestly don’t know what to say. Let me know if you find out anything more._

I bit back my frustration. I wanted to tell her everything else going on, but there’s no way I could convince her that sinister forces were at work. I sat there, stewing in my own anger until my food was ready. I thanked the worker as she handed me my Styrofoam plate and cup. Making some soda from the self-serve fountain I double checked my phone.

It had been some time since Claire’s last message and I started worrying.

**_Jacob:_ ** _Hey Claire, everything okay?_

I sat down to eat, keeping one eye trained on my phone. Savory smells of spices filled the air, and I bit into the tender chicken, Juices gushed down my throat as I chewed, thankful for this small pleasure. I was honestly worried I’d open my plate and find a hundred scorpions crawling out.

**_Claire:_ ** _I’m so groggy, it’s hard to think. My head hurts. But I don’t want to sleep again. I’m afraid of the nightmare desert._

**_Jacob:_ ** _I’m sure we’ll figure this out. Oneirophobia must want something, we just need to figure out what it is._

I continued my meal, but as I gnawed at my food, fear gnawed at me. _‘Is Claire going to be okay?’_

A whimper cut through my thoughts, catching my attention. Looking up I saw a Rottweiler outside the restaurant, weakly looking in. It lay on its stomach, eyeing me and my food. Its fur was matted and I could see its ribs through its fur. The poor thing must have been starving. I grabbed some meat and tossed it to the poor dog, figuring I could eat some snacks at home if I found myself hungry later.

Sniffing my offering, the dog tried to chew on a piece of meat, but quickly gave up, going back to resting. Apparently it was in worse shape than I realized. Once I finished my meal, I’d have to call animal services or something for the poor fellow. I hoped they could help.

I returned to my food, though it was hard to eat while the poor dog looked so sick. I tried to push it out of my mind for now, promising I’d deal with it in a minute. But my heart wasn’t into the meal anymore. Sighing, I finished my soda and tossed it in the trash, closing up my container to take home with me. I reached for my phone to dial services, but I received a text that needed answering first.

_Harriet: Hey I found a YouTube video that mentions an A.M. Oswin. Didn’t you say that was the author who wrote Bloodstained Nightingale? It’s about half an hour though and I don’t have time to watch, so I can’t say if it’s any good._

Did I mention that to her? With everything going on, I must have at some point. Otherwise how could she have known? I thanked her with a smile. I couldn’t wait to watch the video, so I plugged in my earbuds and pressed play. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I grabbed my container and moved from an inside table to an outside one, not too far from the restaurant. The hungry dog watched as I relocated, but it wouldn’t budge at all.

The video was titled _“The Mysterious A.M. Oswin.”_ The description read “A.M. Oswin was a writer who never achieved the fame she often dreamed of as a child. But she did leave behind a legacy of fear and tragedy. Join us as we examine the life of Avalon Morgana Oswin.”

I pressed play. A man appeared on screen hidden away in the shadows. I couldn’t make out his face in the darkness, but I saw his black coat and to hat clear as day. He spoke with a distorted voice, mechanical and crackling. “What can drive a human being to kill? Human kind has long asked this question, ever since Cain first struck down his brother Abel. Greed, jealousy, ambition, necessity? It can be hard to say. There may be many reasons. But does it matter? For ordinary folks like you at home, a murderer’s desires may be too alien to grasp.

“People like us kill because we want change. For better or worse. Maybe the world is rotten and we feel a need to amputate a limb before the infection spreads. Or perhaps we are rotten, and only through our darkest rituals can this world be made a fitting place for us. My reasons for killing are not the same as Oswin’s, so I can only speculate.

“But again, does it matter? What can I offer of her motive that changes the facts, that alters your perception, that shall offer absolution or magnify damnation‽ You’ve already made your judgment, haven’t you?” He remained incredibly still as he spoke, though the video warped, as if I were watching low quality security footage. Black lines appeared like cracks, visual glitches blanketing the screen. “To kill is already alarming enough, but to end the life of an innocent family member? A helpless child?

“Years ago, who can say exactly when, A.M. Oswin murdered Claire Oswin!”

The scene shifted. Though we never chatted face to face, I had seen pictures of her. Though she was younger, I recognized Claire. Her body was beaten, bruised, and bloody. Cuts covered her arms and legs. Blood pooled at her head. I nearly cried out seeing this.

 _‘It’s not real,’_ I told myself. _‘This photo shows a teenager, but Claire didn’t transition until she was an adult. This person might be AMAB for all I know, but they are definitely not pre-transition. This isn’t the Claire I know.’_

Yes, I considered the possibility that the Claire I called my best friend was in fact a ghost, but why would she lie about the details of her life pre-death? It didn’t match up with what I expected of ghost stories. Sure, it was shaky logic at best, but I needed to hold on to whatever anchor I had. I couldn’t face the idea of losing my friend.

The image flickered for a moment and an apple appeared in her hand. It flickered again as worms crawled out of the apple. Hundreds, then thousands, than more. Like clowns stepping out of a car, there were more worms than could possibly fit into such a tiny space. They slithered over Claire’s body, blanketing her in slime.

A high pitched shriek filled my ears. I tore off my headphones and watched as the screen went static.

My heart raced, so I tried to calm myself, focusing on the silence.

The Rottweiler howled and the worker from earlier let out a horrific shriek. I turned my head and saw the dog lying on its side as its stomach bulged and rippled. A hole tore open and out crawled countless scorpions.

They fled into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone feels bad for the dog, don't worry too much.  
> It's actually an illusionary dog of sorts.   
> It doesn't feel actual pain and it didn't really die.


	22. Claire Oswin’s Final Stand

**Chapter 19**

**Claire Oswin’s Final Stand**

With each passing minute, it became harder to stay awake. I tried playing a video game, but I struggled to focus on the text. I could barely tell what I was doing as my character wobbled all over the place. Resigned, I shut the game off almost as soon as I began.

I don’t know why I bothered with the effort. I felt like Sisyphus. My trial gave me a zero percent chance of success. Human beings need sleep, there was no way I could stay awake forever.

I’d be in Oneirophobia’s clutches sooner or later.

**_Claire:_ ** _Sorry, can’t talk now. I can’t think. Head too fuzzy._

I sent the message to both Jacob and Brandon. They both messaged me back, saying to be safe. I wanted their help, talking to somebody would have been a great way to prolong my struggles against sleep. But it didn’t matter, time zones meant they both went to bed long before I did. So as the sky darkened outside I found myself alone.

If I drank coffee, maybe that could have helped. But I was blessed with functioning taste buds so that plan was out. So instead I decided to guzzle down gallons of iced tea. I prayed it would stave off the inevitable. Even if only for a moment.

I counted the tea bags, measured the sugar, and stood over a stove as the water boiled. I felt my eyes drooping as I nearly drifted off to sleep. I pressed my fingers against my injured palm, the sharp pain jolting me awake for a moment.

“Need help in there?” my mother asked.

“I think I’m fine,” I lied.

When the water boiled I turned off the stove and brought everything together, making enough for a few gallons of iced tea. Pouring myself a tall cup I took it into my room, nearly drowning myself in its sweetness as I fought off the darkness creeping into the edges of my vision.

***

Back in the desert I found myself shivering in the cold. The once dry heat had been replaced by an unforgiving cold. Beneath the starry night sky I could almost appreciate the beauty of this world, but I knew better than to let my guard down.

Feeling someone’s breath on my neck, I spun to bring myself face to face with the demon king of nightmares. “I find it amusing that you bothered to attempt an escape. And seeing as you made yourself suffer so much in the interim, I won’t punish you-

“too harshly.”

Raising both arms, he called forth a sandstorm. I shielded my eyes, hoping it would subside soon. Fear overcame me; I collapsed, coughing and sputtering as I felt my asthma attacking me. I gasped for air, taking in a mouthful of sand. I coughed more, trying to spit it all out.

_‘I don’t want to do this all alone! I wish there was someone here who could help!’_

The sands died and the monkey’s paw curled its fingers. I looked up, gasping in horror. “Jacob? Brandon?” Besides them was a large group of about six other people. They all looked at each other in confusion.

“Rebecca, Harriet, Claire, what’s going on?” Jacob was the first to speak. He wore a simple jacket over his T-shirt and some jeans. I recognized the names immediately, they were both his coworkers from different jobs. They’d both been caught up in the drama of _Bloodstained Nightingale._

“It’s Oneirophobia,” I pointed. “He’s the demon king of nightmares.”

Brandon took a step forward. “Sam, Valerie, Jackson, Martin, stand back.” He was wearing a light blue dress shirt, a tie, and some formal slacks. I’d have taken the time to ogle him if not for the fact his boyfriend and a demon king were both nearby.

“Yes,” said my tormentor. “I am Oneirophobia. I am a demon king who rules over all nightmares. Brandon, Jacob, your dear precious Claire has caught you all in my web. And now my influence grows. Your friends have fallen under my spell as well. From the influence of a show that never existed, the books that were never written, to my infernal hellhound spreading misery and despair. As my influence grows, so shall my powers. Others will fall into my grasp and the whole world will tremble.”

The ground beneath me shook and up shot a rubber floor filled with holes, metal poles rose above me. It was one of those playground structures they build for children. Only this kept rising and growing. Oneirophobia and I climbed into the sky, our Babylonian playground towering above the others. There were multiple levels, different floors you could climb up and down. Some were connected by monkey bars. Others had polls you could slide down. And speaking of slides, this thing had a ton. Some went all the way to the ground while others simply went to lower floors.

This isn’t what I had been expecting from a final battle with a demon king. But I figured it must have had some significance.

The higher we climbed, the dizzier I got. I grabbed to a metal railing, nearly collapsing as I saw how far we’d gone. We must have been a hundred stories up! Losing my balance completely, I slipped to my knees. “What do you want from me‽” My vision blurred through all the tears. “Just leave them all alone. I don’t want to see them get hurt. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it. Just promise you’ll spare my friends.”

I saw them on the ground, watching in horror as Oneirophobia carried me away. Brandon balled his fists and glared up at Oneirophobia.

“Oh, but that’s not how this works. I’m going to leave you scarred forever so that you can be my servant. And your friends will be dead. You’ll mourn them through your art and you’ll be all the better for it. How does that sound my lovely little Apple Magus?” Oneirophobia spat his words like each was its own threat. Grabbing me by my wrist, he lifted me up to see the ground below.

A sea of scorpions climbed up the side of the playground, all racing toward me. I nearly choked. I heard their tiny legs clattering away as they blanketed the playground, all coming straight for me. At least I’d have some time before they got here, but I had no idea what they planned to do with me.

 _‘I hate scorpions,’_ I thought. _‘Ever since Brandon warned me about them.’_ It’s funny, it was such a small thing. Just an ordinary day like no other. Brandon and I were cleaning his room, looking for something when a scorpion jumped out from behind a box. He let out a grunt of surprise and reached for a slipper, killing it.

He told me that a scorpion had stung him once, while visiting family in Arizona. Apparently it hurt worse than a dog bite.

I’d been terrified of these tiny little things ever since. Though Rottweilers were still my number one fear, even if Brandon assured me scorpions were worse. So I’m not sure why I was at all surprised to hear the barking.

I looked behind me and saw a giant Rottweiler, three vicious heads all looking at me like a piece of meat. It snarled, slobber dripping from each of its three mouths. In a swift motion it lunged at me, stopping short when its rattling chain went taut. It howled and cried, chomping at the air in front of me. It took a step back and lunged, over and over as if trying to break its constraints.

I examined the chain, it was old and covered in a brownish rust. Gleipnr it was not. “Why me‽ There are better writers out there! Why not go after someone else?” I begged for an answer.   
Get someone else to be your servant! It’s not like I can even write something that scary. My writing isn’t even good enough for you is it? Look at the way you have to go and edit everything!”

“Like I said, those were just trials to test your worthiness. And you passed.”

I heard something snap below me. Looking down the tower I saw a strange creature climbing up toward me. It had the lower body, tail, and claws of a scorpion, and it snapped away at the air, but it had the upper body and head of a woman, her stringy black hair flowing in the night.

I turned to focus on the ground. The scorpions had the others surrounded from all angles with no way to escape. They huddled together, visibly shaking. I saw Brandon trying to be brave, just like when we were kids. But surely even he must have known there was no hope. At least the scorpions were being passive, they didn’t attack. Maybe their goal wasn’t to hurt my friends, just keep them trapped? A small mercy. The only kind life had left for me.

***

The group was too far away for me to properly tell what they were doing. It was only when I asked later that I learned what happened. Brandon swore loudly, enraged that he couldn’t keep the people around him safe. “Does anybody have any ideas?”

Jacob swore, looking up at me with worry. “We have to do something. I think Oneirophobia wants to kill Claire. I saw a video earlier tonight, it showed Claire’s dead body. I’m starting to worry it might be somewhat prophetic, if in a roundabout metaphorical way.”

“What do you mean?” Harriet asked. “Metaphorical how?”

“Well, according to the video she was killed by Avalon Morgana Oswin years ago when she was a teenager. So unless Claire’s actually been a ghost this entire time, the video isn’t literal. But I’m still worried.”

“Avalon Morgana Oswin? As in A.M. Oswin?” Brandon asked.

Jacob nodded. “The alleged author of _Bloodstained Nightingale._ Of course, that statement isn’t entirely true, but I don’t think now is the time for us to be comparing all our notes. There’s way too much going on right now to cover it all.”

“Hold up,” protested Martin. “We’re fighting a demon king? Maybe now is _exactly_ the time to compare notes. How else are we going to defeat this thing?” He whimpered as a scorpion wagged its tail like a puppy.

“Let’s see, it all started when a kid came to my library looking for a book called _Bloodstained Nightingale,_ ” said Jacob. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but his name was Brandon, and he looked a lot like this guy over here, only younger. He said he needed to use the book to save the world or something.”

“I- I think I’ve got it,” Brandon shouted. “Just pray that I’m right.” He turned around-

-gave his boyfriend a quick kiss-

-and he jumped into the sea of scorpions. They crawled up his pants but he swiped them away as he ran toward the playground. He started to climb.

He jumped up the stairs where he found them, but some floors had ladders that took more effort. He kept swiping away scorpions as they covered his skin, never stinging. His knuckles turned white with effort as he pulled himself up. He dashed forward to the next obstacle, a rock climbing wall a good fifteen feet tall. With no equipment or safety gear to aid him, he pulled himself up.

The effort was visible on his face as he strained to drag himself upwards.

Behind me the three headed hellhound growled and barked, reminding me how in danger I was.

Brandon kept climbing, making his way up. The scorpion woman took a swipe at him, her claw closing in on thin air as he ducked under her, narrowly avoiding decapitation. “Brandon, what are you doing? You’re going to get killed!” I cried out.

“Well, we need to do something,” he called back. “And I rather like my odds.” He bounded up a few platforms sticking out of a wall, like a character in a platformer. He stretched his hand out to reach the next floor and pulled himself up.

But he was too far away. The scorpions made it here first. They came to a halt, forming a circle around me with no way out. “You’re trapped,” said Oneirophobia. “Don’t ever forget that. You are my toy. My servant. You will do as I say. Attend to my every whim and I may let you live. You’ve already tested my patience enough. I suggest you not test it anymore.”

I froze, staring up at Oneirophobia. I felt like a child about to face judgment from a parent. “Please, just make it all stop.”

I heard a grunt as Brandon pulled himself up to my level. The hellhound snarled and lunged at him, but didn’t attack. Behind him the scorpion woman climbed up over the edge, joining us all on the top floor. “Just make it stop!”

Brandon knelt at my side and pulled me into a tight hug. “It’s okay now, Claire, everything will be okay.” The dog snarled, the scorpion woman snapped her claws, and Oneirophobia laughed at us. “I know this is scary, but that’s all it’s supposed to be. It might sting a little,” he looked at my injured hand, but forced a smile. “But Oneirophobia won’t cause you any serious harm.”

Looking down at my hand, he frowned. “What happened here?”

“I was holding a glass in my hand and it shattered. It hurts a little but it’s not that bad. More of an annoyance, really,” I explained.

“So, has Oneirophobia told you what he wants? Because this all seems awfully dramatic and showy for no reason.” Brandon glared into Oneirophobia’s eyes. “Sure, maybe he is doing this to scare you, to help you be a better servant. But there are so many easier ways than the roundabout bullshit he’s pulled. Catscratch Haven? That wasn’t very scary in the long run, and we wouldn’t have even known there was something weird there if it hadn’t slipped into the conversation. And I highly doubt this guy is good enough to predict our moves, seeing as he doesn’t seem to have any response for me right now.

“And that kid who happens to look like me? Sure, the vague threat of the world ending might be a little scary, and the mystery book is intriguing, but again it all seems to be too indirect for a demon king.” Brandon’s smirk grew wider as Oneirophobia took a step back, shrinking in fear. “I’m starting to think he doesn’t have any deeper plan.

“And all those scorpions attacking everyone. They’re your fear not ours. Sure you heard about it in the end, but really, why not attack us with our own fears? Then there’s the owl that showed up at my house. Maybe, just maybe it was an actual ‘aumākua here to help, but I think there’s an even more likely explanation.” Brandon crossed his arms.

“And let’s be real. Is this guy really so scary? I read your story Claire. In case you’ve forgotten, _you kicked his ass.”_

“Yeah, but that was when I was fever dreaming. I was still half awake and had more control of my dreams. I can’t do that anymore.” I wish I could, it would be great to one shot this bastard all over again, just like when we first fought. But I was paying for my hubris, now a victim of his torment.

“Claire, if this situation really were what it seemed, would that have mattered? If he truly was a demon king targeting some random mortal? Would you really have been able to dream him away? Think back to your story. Remember what you wrote.

“Oneirophobia isn’t real!”

Brandon spoke with stunning confidence. He smiled at the demon king, showing his pearly white teeth. “I mean, c’mon. You texted your friend for a name because you couldn’t come up with one. If he could control our thoughts why wouldn’t he just let you know who he is‽ What could he possibly gain from all this?”

“Are you saying this is just some nightmare?”

“Sort of-” Brandon scratched the nape of his neck. “I suppose we’re dealing with heavy metaphors now. Look, something supernatural is definitely going on here. But Oneirophobia isn’t the big scary villain you think he is. He’s not the one in charge.

“You are Claire! I don’t know how, but everything makes more sense that way. Your subconscious reached out and started creating all sorts of bizarre magical events. But because of one nightmare, everything has become one horror story after another. You just need to figure out how to yank control back from him. Do that and we’ve won!”

My mouth dropped, refusing to believe it.

The scorpion woman took a step toward Brandon, but he didn’t flinch. “I’m trusting you Claire. You can do this! This world is your dream. Take control. Be the hero you always wanted to be.” The scorpion woman swung at him with her claw. I let out a panicked yelp.

_‘No, Brandon, you can’t die. I love you. I don’t want to lose you again. We all have to survive this and then you and I can be friends.’_

A sword materialized in his hands. With minimal effort, he swung through the woman’s claw, slicing it clean off. She let out a yell it spun through the air, disintegrating into sand. I held out my hands, shooting her with a blast of fire that knocked her down the tower. She hit the next floor and burst apart into tiny particles of more sand.

Scorpions poured in all around but with a blast of wind I sent them all flying. The attack was powerful enough to defeat them and they turned to sand as well, scattered upon the breeze. I turned to our friends on the ground. The scorpions around them grew restless but they were too far away for me to protect. “What do we do?” I asked Brandon.

“Admittedly I hadn’t planned out every specific beat of the plot. Well, you’ve summoned allies before, maybe you can do it again?” He gave a sheepish grin. It would have looked ridiculous on anybody else. But it looked kind of cute on him.

“Well when you aren’t sure what should happen next-”

That’s when the ninja attacked. I didn’t have the time to imagine them as individual people, so I went the cliché route, sticking them all in black. They fell from the heavens, unleashing swift attacks against their enemy scorpions. Blow darts, shuriken, throwing knives, you name it. The scorpions fell en masse. They were pushed back from the tower and driven away into the night.

The scorpions surrounding my friends quickly retreated as the ninja came for them. My allies were not cruel, they did not seek to eradicate the feeling arachnids, but they did remain to ensure that no foolish stragglers would seek vengeance.

With most of our enemies gone, Brandon turned to the snarling hellhound. “Don’t worry Claire, everything will be fine.” He dropped his sword behind him and crouched down, petting the dog’s multiple heads. “Who’s a good boy?” he asked, scratching one head behind the ears. The dog stopped snarling and instead panted joyfully.

Brandon reached for his sword and lifted it high above his head, slicing through the dog’s chains. It tackled him to the ground and licked his face as he laughed. “Wait, stop that tickles,” he protested. I admit I still felt afraid of it, but with Brandon here I knew I’d be okay.

I turned to Oneirophobia. “You lose.” Far below, a huge crack tore across the desert with a thunderous boom. Chunks of lands fell away, forming cliffs. A raging sea thrashed below, crashing against jagged rocks. “And I’m sorry, but there will be no mercy!” A huge shark leapt up from below, soaring above the tower in a single bound. It opened its massive jaws wide, swallowing the demon king whole.

Falling through the air, it turned into sea foam, taking Oneirophobia with it. Hopefully that would be the last I saw of him. It’s not like I could forever count on the power of friendship and unrequited queer love to power me through all future confrontations.

“I find it strange that you are terrified of dogs and scorpions but sharks are perfectly fine.” Brandon joked.

“They’re my ‘aumākua,” I shrugged.

Brandon convinced the hellhound to sit. Once freed of the dog’s weight, he rose back up to his feet, but still offered the creature more head pats. “Wow, so uh, looks like that’s over.” He rubbed the nape of his neck. Unsure of how to proceed. “Hopefully we can figure out how exactly your powers work. That could have some amazing potential.” It was a joke to lighten the mood, but I wasn’t feeling it.

Sure we’d dealt with the evil demon king, but now we had an even bigger terror to deal with.

“Don’t be silly Brandon. I can’t go on this way. I- I did that. I did all of that. I don’t know how but it’s all my fault.” I laughed miserably. “I terrified my friends. I could have hurt your roommates and your- It’s all my fault.”

My stomach twisted even worse than all those other times. My legs felt shaky as I tried to stand. I nearly collapsed again, but managed to stabilize myself. I took a single step back.

Brandon’s mouth quickly dropped. “You weren’t in control. You had no idea. All you need to do is learn how to control it better. Then we won’t get hurt anymore.” He looked at me pleadingly. “Look, let’s just climb down the tower slow and steady now. There are even slides, we can take the easy way down.”

“No, Brandon. I can’t deal with this. For all I know one bad nightmare will bring Oneirophobia back. What if he’s angrier and more violent next time. Or what if we get another monster entirely? Or what if it lashes out at strangers and we don’t even know what’s going on? I can’t risk hurting somebody else!”

“Claire, calm down. You’re starting to scare me.”

I tried to wipe away the tears, but more kept coming. “What if it hurts your boyfriend? I’d never forgive myself. You’d never forgive me. I can’t take this, Brandon. I don’t want to live every second of my life in fear anymore.”

There came a crackling like a clap of thunder as cracks webbed their way through the playground. I took another step back, feeling the ground crumble beneath me. I feared death, but if this was the only safe way forward, then so be it.

_‘If I die in this nightmare, I’m sure I’ll die in real life.’_

I offered a sad smile as I watched Brandon watching me.

I never expected him to jump after me.

“Claire, what the _Hell_ do you think you’re doing?” He reached his hand out toward me and grabbed my wrist. Pulling me in close he wrapped his arms around me in a protective hug. I felt the wind whistling past us as we fell. Then we hit the water with a splash, sinking in deep. It all went dark.

***

I opened my eyes and found myself still in Brandon’s embrace. The sea had calmed itself, the once raging waters now a gentle tide with a rhythmic ebb and flow. A group of turtles had gathered around Brandon and I, and were now swimming us to safety.

The scenery had undergone one last transformation, the tall cliffs had now become a beach. I could see our friends waiting for us. Our saviors dropped us off on land before returning to their ocean home. I rolled off Brandon, giving the hellhound room to lick his face.

“So what happened?” Jacob asked. “Is it over? Did you kill Oneirophobia?”

The sun began riding above the horizon. “I sure hope so.” I said, feeling not much beyond exhaustion. “I think we all have a lot to go over. But maybe not right now. I just want to rest. Hopefully we’ll all have our memories of this in the morning. It would suck if we all forgot.”

I sat up, trying to figure out something to say to the others. _‘I’m sorry. Thanks for coming. Oh boy, that sure was scary.’_ But at the moment I didn’t have the energy to say anything at all. So we just sat there, watching the sunrise until it was time to wake up.


	23. The Soaring Nightingales

**Interlude**

**The Soaring Nightingales**

**By Apple Magus and Brandon the Knight**

**Prologue**

“Well this certainly isn’t a city of big adventures,” he said, gazing upon the town. “Nothing wrong with small though.” He was only nineteen, and though he’d spend many years training with the sword at his side, he knew it would take something more to earn the respect of this country’s citizens. After all, their king’s armies were unable to deal with this crisis, how could a seemingly ordinary teen win their faith so easily?

And besides, he had a more immediate goal in mind.

His name was Bradley, and once he’d tried becoming a knight. At age fifteen he made waves. Though he should have been a squire, his skills in combat left many knights speechless- and ashamed. Forced to leave his lord’s castle, he feared he’d never have a chance to serve the people.

Now that he’d been given a chance, he’d more than gladly give it up to ensure the safety of the kingdom. Still, he had not expected his travels to take him here.

He had black hair, light skin, and wore a brown leather cloak. It looked a bit dusty, but it got the job done so he usually didn’t mind the looks much. Not that he expected many here in such an equally dusty looking town.

It was a backwater place, the people got all their water from a single river running through town. It hardly had enough fish to keep the people satisfied, but if you were lucky you might get a tasty snack. People shared the water, for drinking, bathing, and watering their garden crops. Not that the fields were fertile enough to grow much, but a few cabbages here, potatoes there, helped keep them fed. Thankfully it was such a small town.

Normally they’d go hunting in the woods, a few boars or other beasts could keep the villager’s belly full for days, but naturally such trips were too dangerous now. Bradley walked along a dirt path seeing two boys playing with a ball. Their clothes were torn and their skin showed ribs peeking though. He could even hear their stomachs growling. He sighed, knowing he didn’t have much.

But he opened up the satchel at his side, pulling out two hearty loaves of bread filled with all sorts of nuts. “I’m sorry I don’t have much, but hopefully this will keep you full for now.” He glanced at the nearby forest at the edge of town. Pine trees seemed to swallow all the light that drew near, casting gray shadows around a large hunting ground. Once upon a time the villagers would have been the hunters. Now all who entered would become prey.

“Thank you, sir,” said the first boy. “This is more than we could ever ask for.”

“Tell me,” said Bradley. “What do you know of the monster haunting this village?”

The two children looked at each other, their eyes widening in horror. “They say it lives in the forest and eats anyone who tries to fight it. The king sent one of his finest squadrons to fight it, only half were able to escape and flee. They say nobody was even able to injure it.”

Worrisome, _if_ true. These monsters deserved their reputations as fierce and deadly, but some were always exaggerating their might to make them seem even more terrifying. The second boy noticed Bradley’s sword. “You’re not going to fight the monster are you‽ It’s too dangerous. It will hurt you.”

Bradley smiled at the kid. “Don’t worry, I’m not the type to let a little monster hurt me. I’m just a traveler searching for some good to do.” And with those we walked off down the dirt road towards a small patch of land where two older men worked on the gardening. They both seemed older than he, one with bulging muscles and a thick beard, the other with hair showing a faint hint of grayness. They struggled to pull their crops from the ground, radishes had all been lined up, along with cabbages and potatoes, but the two men yelped as sweat dripped down their faces.

“Would you two like some help?” He offered. They regarded him suspiciously, silent for a moment before they first man grunted.

“Sorry, but we don’t have much in the way of a rewards, we wouldn’t be able to pay you at all.”

“That’s okay I,” Bradley pulled back, sensing a deeper issue of trust at hand. Turning down the road, he placed his hands behind his neck as he walked off. He planned to head into the forest for a little monster hunting, but a bit of gossip caught his attention.

“I can’t believe it, Princess Éclair is still missing! First the monsters attack. Now this. I hope one of them didn’t get her.”

“I just hope it wasn’t a spy from a foreign kingdom.”

Of course, the gossip on everyone’s mind. The princess had vanished soon after the monster attacks began. Theories floated around all the place, many with zero basis in reality. Some theorized the princess was an heir of holy magic and her death meant the strange creatures had been unleashed. Others claimed she was a hostage of the monster king, keeping the king’s knights at bay as the monsters ruined human lives. Others said she’d been tricked into opening a portal to the monster realm and now lived in shame and fear.

Utterly ridiculous.

He heard new theories wherever he went. He had his own of course. And if his hunch was right, he’d soon be proven correct. He was about to walk into the forest, when he saw another figure there. She looked around briefly, Bradley’s face seemingly not registering at all with her. But she left an impression on him. Not any sort of romantic or sexual impression, mind you, as he was very gay.

There were no posters of the princess. The royals felt that putting her likeness everywhere would put her in more danger of those wishing to abuse her. But there were rumors, beautiful brown skin, gorgeous brown eyes filled with kindness, and long wavy black hair that flowed down her back. This traveler knew the rumors were true, for he’d met the princess once as a child.

And he recognized her anywhere, even in that cloak. Sure, she’d changed her hair, cutting it to the shoulder while dying it brown, but he’d recognize her face anywhere. She hadn’t seemed to register him, not that he blamed her. To him, she was Princess Éclair, future ruler of their kingdom. But to her she was an ordinary civilian, no reason to recognize him.

Princess Éclair looked around for followers and dashed into the forest. The traveler wished to help, but did not want to draw attention to the princess. Not when she was clearly in hiding. It seemed his hunch was proving true.

He’d visited several villages now, each plagued by monster problems. A seaport town where a strange kraken attacked all ships that dared to come or leave, a mountain town plagued by a troll who would not let others pass through, forcing them to take a large detour, and a small fishing village where a large elephant creature drank all their lakes, leaving the fish to rot.

All three shared reports of a mysterious woman in a brown cloak. And all three reported the same joyful news. The monster threatening their towns had all been slain.

The princess hadn’t been taken or hurt by the monsters. She was hunting them. And Bradley was here too help. Now to get her attention without frightening her. Wandering into dangerous territory without his hand on his weapon left him feeling vulnerable and naked, but he did not want Princess Éclair to mistake him for a threat.

So he relaxed his body as he stepped into the woods, looking around for signs of the princess. Leaves covered the trail, but it seemed she took steps to hide herself. Perhaps she had climbed the-

Realization dawned on Bradley’s face as he jumped to the side just in time.

Éclair fell to his side, her outstretched palm emitting a bright light. “Why are you following me- Bradley?” she gasped. Lowering her palm, she dimmed the light. “Bradley why are you following me? Are the knights on my trail? Surely they can’t have caught on, not when I’ve done so much to hide myself.”

Bradley smirked. “I’m not with the knights, remember? I was expelled from their ranks because they were too jealous of my abilities. I came here offering my help. I’d heard tales of a young woman matching your description, rumors had it that she went from town to town killing monsters. I knew it had to be you.”

“I haven’t done much, the monsters I took on were all weak compared to the stronger foes out there. I need to work my way up and get stronger. But this is terrible. If you’ve figured out my secret than surely others have as well!”

“Doesn’t sound like it. Nobody seemed to realize the mysterious woman is actually our kingdom’s missing princess. Not many people know what you look like, for better or worse. That’s afforded you some privacy. Though I have to ask- how were you able to identify me?”

“We’ve met before, Bradley, surely you remember meeting your princess?”

“Well, I, yes, of course I do. I remember our meeting clearly. But I am just one of your countless loyal subjects, one would be knight in training that you encountered. Surely, you can’t remember us all. I can’t imagine myself having done much to stand out in anyway.”

“It’s funny how small some people’s imaginations can be,” she scoffed. She had no chance to elaborate, and Bradley could question her no longer. A mighty roar demanded their full attention. The forest shook rhythmically as a large creature approached. Deer, boar, rabbits, and other creatures large and small fled away from the noise. Trees cracked and tumbled and flames roared into the air.

A mighty dragon crawled toward them. Flames bellowed forth from its giant maw. Obsidian scales covered its head, body, and wings from top to bottom. It tore through trees with a single swipe of its claw. Brandon readied his sword while Éclair’s hands lit up with a readied spell. The dragon unfurled its wings and rose upward, ready to make use of its greatest advantage.

“Have you ever fought a dragon before, Princess Éclair?”

“Sadly, no. And while I’m in hiding, please, call me Clara.”


	24. Claire Oswin Healing

**Epilogue**

**Claire Oswin Healing**

“Thank you,” I said to the taxi driver as I handed over her fare and tip. I never thought I’d actually be this happy to see sand again, but here I was at the beach. Okay, not exactly my first idea for a relaxing locale, but majority rule decided we should meet here. I was wearing a simple pink T-shirt and some girl’s board shorts. Not the most comfortable get up, but there was talk of swimming.

I saw Jacob on the beach waiting for me, wearing board shorts and a T-shirt. Harriet and Rebecca sat next to him on a towel, happily snacking on a basket overflowing with fruits. I dashed up to him, kicking up sand as I ran.

“I’m not late am I? I tried to be early because I didn’t want to keep anybody waiting.”

“Nah, we all had the same idea, so Harriet drove us here early. Besides, there wasn’t much to do at the hotel and not enough time to go sightseeing, so we figured we might as well just come here early and wait.”

It had been about a month since our grand battle with my imaginary nightmare. No scorpions, no formless deserts, no unwanted Rottweilers, and not a single unwanted scare around. I’d been working on exploring my powers, testing the waters little by little, and things were going great.

Now we’d all decided to meet up in Hawaii for a chance to spend some time together. I just hooped things wouldn’t get too awkward. I voted we meet up some place like Iao, but the mainlanders wanted a beach for some reason. They’d flown in yesterday, but this was our first meet up, since everybody needed their rest.

I heard Brandon was staying with an aunt and uncle and took Sam with him, but the others all got hotel rooms.

A rental car pulled up to the parking lot, carrying four people I recognized. Brandon sat in the driver’s seat. It’s funny, when last we were friends we were too young to drive, seeing him like this just reminded me of how much time he passed. He parked his car and they all stepped out. Brandon immediately removed his shirt and tossed it back in the vehicle. He looked really good in his board shorts and I wanted to stare, but with his boyfriend right next to him, I decided it was best to look away.

I nearly gulped when I saw Sam approach me. “Hey, Claire,” he called out with a bright smile. I turned toward him, offering a meek and sheepish grin. “Hey so um,” he put a hand behind his head. “Brandon told me about the history between you two. I know that you kind of ended things on an odd note and with all this nightmare nonsense, you never got proper closure. So I understand if there are any lingering feelings.

“And you know what? I don’t blame you. I mean, look at the guy, he’s hot.”

Brandon didn’t have the bulging rippling muscles of some men, but he certainly looked great without a shirt on. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to join the others on the beach. A few girls stared his way and I almost felt bad for them. But if I could live, so would they.

“The point is I trust him. So I’m not going to get jealous of you if you need to spend time with him or open up about how you feel. And I don’t want to make things awkward or hard for you, I know you’ve been through a lot.” Sam gave me a smile before returning to the car. He had to help Jackson and Martin with the cooler. Brandon had messaged earlier, saying they would bring lots of juice. I was kind of thirsty so I couldn’t wait.

But I strolled over to Brandon next. He seemed to be waiting for me. He smirked as I approached. “Sam told me he wanted to clear the air with you,” Brandon laughed. “I have to admit, this is kind of an awkward situation. Having my boyfriend meet an ex-that-never-was. But I’m glad we got a second chance to be friends.”

“Yeah, I’m just sorry I had to unleash a nightmare demon on you and your friends to accomplish it.”

“Don’t worry about it. Everybody’s recovered fully and insurance is taking care of _everything._ Like, more than you’d expect. Jackson’s got a new car that’s way better than the one he had before. He says he also met a cute girl in the emergency room and things have been going well. Maybe not well enough to invite her on a date to Hawaii just yet, but he’s hoping next time it might just be the two of them.” Brandon chuckled.

“This is all so surreal. There’s so much I don’t get.”

“Really? I think I’ve figured most of it out. Well, most of what there was too figure out. Namely that a lot of it _didn’t_ have a rhyme or reason because your powers were lashing out. Things just started happening, sometimes without a reason. Like those torn books you told me about. And the scorpions. A lot of it was just scary stuff that happened because you were starting to expect scary things after your nightmares.”

“But Catscratch Haven, like you said, that wasn’t scary until we started putting the pieces into place, something that might never have happened. It didn’t make sense.” This entire time I wasn’t sure where to look. Common courtesy said to look at his face, but that just made be blush too much. And his face was connected to the rest of his body, which was still shirtless. “And how did that even work? Your friend remembered a cartoon that never existed!”

“It didn’t make sense for some nightmare king with a grand scheme. Catscratch Haven made perfect sense for you if your powers were just acting randomly. As for how it happened, I figure it was some sort of simple memory alteration. People often wake up from dreams remembering things that never happened. So my friend simply remembered something that never happened.” He turned to his friends. “Hey Valerie, can you come here for a second.”

She strolled toward us nonchalantly, wearing a pair of sunglasses over her eyes. Letting out a huge yawn, she still managed a smile. “Sorry, too excited to sleep. Everything okay?”

“We were just talking about Catscratch Haven,” Brandon explained.

Valerie chuckled. “Oh right, cause that was a thing you were writing. Brandon told me all about it. It’s so weird, just a month ago I could have sworn it was a cartoon I watched as a kid, but now those memories are all fuzzy and faded and I’m sure I imagined them. I wonder if all the people who claim to have read _Bloodstained Nightingale_ feel the same way.”

“Probably,” surmised Brandon. “Now with Claire’s powers under control, the false memories are fading. Even I have a few fuzzy spots in my memory, but I’ll deal. Anyway, speaking of _Bloodstained Nightingale,_ I finally figured that title out. It was Jacob who had the last key.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah, he said he saw this video about a writer named Avalon Morgana Oswin. It said that years ago, she killed you Claire. But if you know anything about Arthurian legend, things just fall into place even more. Avalon is the island of apples and Morgana was another name for Morgan le Fay, a famous magic user. It all still ties back to Apple Magus.

“Obviously you didn’t murder yourself, Claire. But you changed as you grew up. We all do. It’s human nature. Nightingales represent creativity, purity, and innocence. _You_ were the Bloodstained Nightingale. Your writing got darker and darker because of your jealousy and your emotions and I think part of you was fighting back against that. But in the end you won.

“You and I are friends again and you’re happier right? I guess that weird little clone you made of me got the job done after all.” He gave me a tight hug and for a moment I could feel his warm skin against my body. “I’m going swimming? Want to join me?”

“No thanks,” I said with a smile. You have fun.”

As I watched Brandon dash into the ocean, I sat down next to Jacob, smiling as I looked up at the blue sky. “You know, I’ve been thinking about _Wednesday Angel_ a lot lately, ever since you mentioned someone was reading it. They recently announced a new anime, so hopefully fans will be happier now, since they didn’t really like the way the first anime ended.”

“Did you‽” Jacob asked. “I honestly can’t remember.”

“Sometimes. It depends on my mood. It really is bittersweet you know. Yumi and Karen weren’t exactly in a healthy friendship at first. They’re a problematic fave, but in a realistic way. Seeing them air out their issues and move on, it was kind of cathartic in a way. Sometimes it’s good to see two people who are wrong for each other admit it and move on. There were times when it really helped me cope with Brandon.

“But in later volumes they actually work on communicating more and they sort out their problems. They’re in a much healthier place now. And that’s the kind of growth you don’t get to see when you cut someone out of your life.”

“Well, however the anime goes, I’m glad real life didn’t end with Brandon and I heading our separate ways. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way about me, I’m glad to have him as a friend.” I stared out at the sea, watching Brandon splash in the waters. “And it sure is fun getting to collab with him again.”

I smiled. So _I_ was the bloodstained nightingale? Well I sure don’t feel that way anymore. I’m ready to have a second go at all my stories. Only this time, I think there will be more happy endings for them.

**The End**


End file.
